


Rain Dance

by palomino333



Series: Pandora-verse [5]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Diplomacy, M/M, Pre-War, Rain, Tension, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 22:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15034607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: Sequel to New World. Set after "Metamorphosis." “It is not logical, to allow our relationship’s movement to be dictated by our hardships.”  After the death of Nancy Hedford, the Enterprise is tasked with escorting a new diplomat to Epsilon Canaris III. McCoy attempts to close the book on the Mirror Universe.





	1. Chapter 1

Failure was not an uncommon word to Captain Kirk. It was one to be avoided, yes, but not uncommon. He had several. Members of his crew had been lost thus far on this mission, and not every situation could be solved in his favor. Not that it made it any easier to tell with anyway.

Commodore Barstow stood before him on his viewscreen, his hands folded. "You understand what this loss spells for a situation this delicate, let alone for the Federation overall? Diplomat Hedford will be greatly missed."

"My condolences to her family."

"That is not enough, Kirk. This situation must be rectified, and it will be in your hands." He reached into his desk and pulled out a PADD. You and your crew will pick up the replacement diplomat, Yen Tien Phan, at Starbase Ten. You will be responsible for her until the end of the end of the negotiations."

Kirk tapped the side of his hand against his desk. "With all due respect, if we lost Diplomat Hedford, why would we be trusted with Diplomat Phan?"

"This is your error, Kirk. You need to correct it," Barstow replied firmly, "Adding another ship into it will complicate matters." Tapping on the PADD, he explained, I am uploading the information to your system. Be ready for her. Have you a linguist?"

Kirk nodded.

"She will also need further information on the natives of Epsilon Canaris III. As an additional precaution, you will also be beaming down with her, to ensure that this will proceed accordingly."

At least it would only be a few days off the mission. Kirk had expected worse for losing Hedford, though it couldn't have been helped. "Understood. I will prepare quarters for her right away."

"Barstow out."

Kirk stifled his frustration and walked over to his office's intercom. "Bridge."

"Spock here, captain."

"Commander, report to my office. I've received a message from Starfleet."

"Understood. Spock, out."

Spock studied the PADD that Kirk had handed to him. "Interesting."

Kirk leaned forward over his desk and stared down at the ship's personnel files. Phan's lay in the middle of them. He raised his eyes at him. "In what way, Mr. Spock?"

"We have been selected to take on this mission based upon our failure to complete the previous one. It would be more logical for Starfleet to assign it to a different ship. Let alone," he tapped on the PADD, and brought up a star chart, "the fact that we are not the only ship in this area. Although my assumption is that you already have suspected this."

Kirk grimaced, and he took that as his answer. Lowering the PADD to place it beside Kirk, Spock commented, "Though I have found it interesting, this growing trend of our being the only ship in a general vicinity to handle a certain situation."

"You see it, too?" Kirk muttered.

"An officer with a pair of working eyes could see it," Spock replied bluntly.

Kirk smirked at his friend's frankness, but it slipped. "But why have a gunship hover around the planet's surface? There are science and other civilian vessels that Phan could have been transferred to."

"What has the temperament of the Norsicans become, since Diplomat Hedford's leave of absence?" Spock inquired, naming the planet's natives by their preferred term.

"Restless," Kirk answered, tapping his finger on Chekov's name in the crew roster. Selecting Uhura's name from another list, he dragged it over to place underneath Phan's. "However, that doesn't make us referees."

"You seem to have had a change in mentality, regarding that," Spock commented.

"Not so much a change, just a concern about alienating an ally," Kirk explained. Highlighting McCoy's name, he dragged it over to position it above Phan's name. His selection made, he raised his head to look at Spock full on. "Nevertheless, this a subject that'll have to wait."

Spock nodded and glanced down over the PADD. "The planet's weather patterns will prove difficult."

Kirk's tone was apologetic. "But culturally speaking, it is imperative for the captain and the commander of the ship to appear before the delegation, as clan loyalty is paramount upon the planet. Without us there, Phan won't be listened to."

"It is workable," Spock replied, "I will speak with Dr. McCoy about countermeasures to work on this issue. However, I find it illogical, as neither of us are actively involved in this discussion."

Kirk tapped his fingers testily upon the desk. "Workable, that's it. I can't file a complaint about this, as it's not going to physically harm you."

"You are concerned?" Spock asked.

"You need to ask?" Kirk countered, and amusement flickered through Spock's eyes.

XXXXXX

"Transporter locking. Energizing," Lieutenant Kyle declared.

Kirk and Uhura stood beside Kyle's station as the figure materialized before them. Typically, Kirk would have worn a dress uniform, but there was no time, given the delicacy of the situation.

Phan was a slight, thin woman, being shorter than Uhura. Her dress was white and lined with blue. A floral pattern was on it, and its collar was high. Her black hair was pulled back in a bun, and hesitation was in her dark eyes. A rucksack was over her shoulder. She folded her arms respectfully at Kirk, and declared, "Greetings."

"Welcome aboard, Diplomat Phan," Kirk replied warmly, "I am Captain James T. Kirk, and this is Lieutenant Uhura, our communications officer."

Uhura nodded invitingly to Phan and held out a hand. Phan's gaze at Kirk was uncertain as she stepped off the transporter pad to shake Uhura's outstretched hand. Kirk made no comment, as he understood why. Likely he would have to earn Phan's trust after the loss of her predecessor. "Lieutenant Uhura will assist you in any uncertainties you may have pertaining to Norscian culture and language. She's our best here."

"Thank you, sir. Forgive me, but may I place this down? It would look unseemly at the meeting," Phan inquired.

"Of course. We'll have our meeting at 1500 hours," Kirk replied, allowing them to leave.

"Your quarters are on deck six," Uhura explained as she grasped the lift control, "How was Starbase Ten?"

Phan shrugged. "Bustling with activity, as always. It did give me a headache, and I was grateful to be away from it."

Uhura detected her wariness but said nothing on it.

The lift doors opened, and Phan disembarked with her, glancing absent-mindedly about at other crew members at work. The room itself was not far from the lift, and a command from Uhura brought its interior lights on. Phan smiled at the quarters. "Thank you." They were clean, and while not Spartan, not necessarily over the top, with a few frills here and there for the diplomat's aesthetic benefit, such as a potted plant, a mirror, and a modesty curtain hanging by the bed.

Lying the rucksack down on the room's desk, she glanced back at Uhura. "You may sit, if you prefer. I'd rather become acquainted with you, if we are to work together."

Uhura took the chair near the bed, while Phan sat down on its surface. "You are aware of the situation on the planet now, I assume?" Phan asked.

"Starfleet briefed us. We will be avoiding the usage of a shuttle, this time."

"That's fine," Phan replied, bracing her hands on the bed, and arching her back slightly, "I suppose I am concerned about my being here, to begin with."

Uhura's expression became sympathetic. "We grieve the loss of Nancy Hedford, however I will assure you, Diplomat Phan, that we won't allow for that to happen to you."

"You have faith in your captain, despite what has come to pass?" Phan asked softly.

"I serve under him, and he has protected us," Uhura replied, "I trust his judgements."

"Perhaps my view is different simply because I do not know the man well enough," Phan offered, "This is neither my first time on board a Starfleet vessel, nor will it be my last. However, I do find that I prefer a civilian form of transport."

"You have been to Vulcan before, correct?" Uhura asked.

"I'm not as hardline as Diplomat Hedford was, therefore I follow in her footsteps. I have collaborated with her in the past, though." She ran her hand over the bedspread. "Such as in the trade agreements on Weytahn. She was an associate of mine. I would not call us friends, but I was, am, upset at her passing."

Uhura did not need to probe Phan further. "We have a half hour before the meeting. Shall we begin?"

Phan nodded and rose. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"Coffee is fine." As Phan headed over to the replicator, Uhura commented, "I find Norsican dialects interesting. They are fluid, expanding out from the accents of the four main birth queens. Some terminologies cross over, but others are lost, or do not fit. It suggests that there were other queens, in the past."

"Or a genetic bottleneck," Phan offered quietly. The replicator pinged, and she removed a tray containing a steaming cup of coffee and what appeared to be a steaming glass of warm milk. Setting the tray down on the table between herself and Uhura, she gratefully took a long drink of the milk.

Uhura decided not to comment on Phan's beverage of choice as she reached for her cup, but it nonetheless confirmed to her that the diplomat was peevish. "I wouldn't draw that conclusion so much as there was a divide in ways of living. Norsican culture is divided into four, based upon landform and adaptability. However, the cultures are in collusion with each other."

"Correct. While they are creatures that have evolved from the water, two of the cultures have moved to higher ground, one of them dwelling in the forest, and the other in the more mountainous regions, which allowed them to build cities. The remaining two are in the oceanic areas. The idea was that trade would keep the cultures in check with one another. That balance, however, eventually tipped."

Uhura nodded. "Due to two things, the lifespan of the queens, and more importantly, interstellar commerce."

"Hence, they remain neutral," Phan surmised, "However, they have hired us to mediate in this," sipping her milk, she added, "What this indicates to me is that the queens are casting their lot in with the Federation, as opposed to, say, the Klingons."

"That's a bit of a leap," Uhura commented.

"Nevertheless, known space is slanting," Phan pushed.

Uhura shook her head and put her cup down. "I can't agree with that. We're continuing to explore space on a strictly scientific endeavor. Whatever interference we have had in a local culture has been either in self-defense, or, in rarer cases, moral obligation."

Phan's eyes became faraway, and Uhura folded her hands. "I emphasize that the latter was rare. We can't impose our morality endlessly upon the galaxy."

"But when tested, we fall back on them," she commented, and Uhura had the impression that Phan seemed smaller than when she had sat down. It was passing, however, as Phan put down her milk. "Hence, my concern. It isn't our exploration that bears a problem, otherwise I wouldn't be a diplomat. Rather, it is the oversight that I find a problem."

"That, and the death of a civilian on our watch," Uhura pointed out.

"Yes. There are concerns for the future, and with the Romulans also making another appearance," she shrugged, "matters are in a state of flux, as you can each assume on this ship. We will see where that goes. As to the task at hand, I'll have to settle affairs between four old mothers. This should be fairly interesting."

"That hand that rocks the cradle," Uhura muttered.

Phan's dark eyes flicked up at her. "Let us hope that there remains a world left to rule."

XXXXXX

"Our heading is set for Epsilon Canaris III, known to the natives as Norsica," Kirk began. He sat at the head of the meeting table. Spock was on his right, and Phan was directly behind the commander. On Kirk's left was McCoy, with Uhura behind him. Scott was at the opposite end of the table. "Our objective is to successfully escort Diplomat Phan to and from her meetings until the negotiations are completed. They are to take place until the end of the week. Until then, we will remain within the planet's orbit."

Spock keyed in a command to the viewers on the table, which pulled up an image of the planet. "The planet is eighty percent water and is under heavy cloud cover with daily rainfall." The image was replaced to bring up archived footage of native Noriscans moving through a city. The buildings were closely packed and pointed to allow runoff. The gutters lined them, and the streets bore canals beside them to allow the water to be drained.

McCoy then took over. "The bodily composition of the Norsicans is aligned more toward water, however one variety can breathe upon the surface. They have blue scales, and resemble, physically by descent, the queen from whose clutch he or she was born or descended from. Norsicans can mate with each other, and typically bear about three or four clutches. The queens are an exception to this. Each of the four queens has multiple consorts, who usually are not seen, due to being kept close to quarters. The two most common variations of Norsicans, to be loose in terminology, are as follows." The first graphic displayed a thin, long-limbed pair with amber eyes and defined bone crests poking out of their heads. They wore loose fitting clothing, being a long robe over a tunic, with the shorter figure on the right having a shawl over the crest. "This is the first variety, that dwells mainly in the forest and settled regions. They tend to be slimmer and long-limbed. There are two common birth clutches for this variety." The images disappeared to be replaced by a tall female Norsican sitting upon a high-backed chair. Her expression was imperious, and her shawl hung over the pronounced crest on her head like a nun's wimple. Her eyes were amber.

McCoy gestured for Phan to speak, and she began. "This is Yi, the oldest birth queen. She has laid sixty-four clutches of eggs, giving her also the greatest amount of eggs laid. Her domain covers the settled regions. Her also children have the highest rate of survival. It was during her time that the city dwellers developed warp drive. Due to her age and prominence, the negotiations have been moved to her domain's capital city, Evarra."

"Most queens live to be 250. She is pushing 210, which places her past laying age," McCoy verified, replacing the image with that of a shorter, sprier woman with cyan eyes. Her shawl was at her shoulder, and her outfit was more revealing, with how the neckline plunged. Jewelry adorned her crest.

"Meylu is the birth queen of the more forested regions. She appears more receptive to the utilization of exterior sources as mediation, however it should be noted that she also was the one to cast in new demands to the arrival of the second diplomat, that being myself." Phan gestured over to Kirk, who nodded, indicating that he had them.

Replacing Meylu was an image of two larger built Norsicans. The crests were gone, and the clothing was thicker, the shawls and cloaks replaced by shirts and pants. The eyes were larger and wider, with the hands webbed. "The second variety of Norsicans live primarily underwater or along the coastline. They are typically hardier than their cousins, with their lifespans being not as long. For contrast, a Norsican of the first variety can live to be 100 years, if not a queen. However, these Norsicans only live to be about eighty, due to multiple factors, chief being occupational hazards, such as underwater volcanic activity and hostile sea life, and environmental factors, largely a result of run-off from the settled regions." McCoy kept his words professional, but his voice had dropped, indicating that the matter had upset him.

The image of a well-muscled female with large pupils and a pair of goggles atop her head appeared. A shawl was weaved about her neck like a decorative scarf. A breathing apparatus obscured her mouth and nose. Her hand was up while in conversation with another Norsican, whose face was obscured by a metal alloyed diving helmet. Her other hand held that of a child Norsican, who was tugging on her leg. Phan began, "This is Noreen, in one of the few pictures I was able to find of her above water. She is the youngest of the four birth queens, with her line being sea dwellers. Reportedly, she has only laid twenty-five clutches, however she has been away for a long period of time, so she possibly may have laid another. Deep sea queens do not live as long as their counterparts, hence she is guarded more closely. I was able to interview her over long-distance camera, but there was interference due to aquatic pressure."

Noreen's image was replaced with a last one, that of a Norsican woman with a weapon in hand, appearing to be a harpoon mounted on a launcher. Her shoulders, however, were relaxed, indicating no tension, while her one knee was bent, her foot upon a metal crate. An apparatus was over her mouth, as well, her goggles down. She was on board a ship, with deck hands moving about her. "This is Ziza, the remaining queen. Her clutches dwell along the coast. It is here that the tensions are strongest, due to the damage."

The screens were off-lined, and Kirk picked up the lecture. "We'll have to tread lightly while there. Yi and Meylu's militaries patrol the planet's atmosphere, though civilian and Federation as well as Klingon military ships are legally allowed to orbit, and dock at the spaceport. The city police are on watch, and are at odds with the military, who are, specifically, guarding the legislative building. I will also note is that Yi's military has been employing drones to patrol the planet's atmosphere. Mr. Scott?"

Scott leaned forward. "Aye, sir?"

At Kirk's gesture, Uhura explained, "A notable aspect about Norsican culture is that during meetings between officials, their seconds must appear as a sign of good faith. Hence, Norsican queens bring their favored consorts. In this case, as it is the Enterprise that is carrying Diplomat Phan, it would be the captain and the commander who must disembark."

"As such, Commander Spock will be accompanying Diplomat Phan and me to the surface. The landing party will further consist of Dr. McCoy, Lieutenant Uhura, and Ensign Chekov. We will remain on the surface overnight, if we are requested or required. Otherwise, we will return to the Enterprise at end of the day and shuffle the landing party accordingly over the course of the week. Mr. Scott, you will have the conn." Spock and Scott nodded at that, and McCoy, by contrast, shook his head in annoyance.

"It's foolish. Vulcans have set foot on their planet before, and they know how uncomfortable it is for them to breathe there."

"Doctor, by that logic, then humanity would have no reason to interact with the Andorians or the Tellarites on their home worlds," Spock corrected him, "as they dwell in lower temperatures than the human body can handle without extra protection." He flipped his wrist over, indicating his command braids, "If anything, it is only my rank that singles me out."

McCoy's eyes gleamed, having found an edge to work with. However, Kirk jumped in before he could seize it. "It isn't only rank. It's also the occurrences of the previous mission." Surprise flickered through McCoy's expression. "Part of the request the birth queens had was for all three of us to be on the planet's surface, in order to minimize risk." McCoy's surprise fell to helpless irritation, and Kirk inquired, "Have you completed building the apparatus Commander Spock requested, doctor?"

"I left it locked in sickbay. Whenever Mr. Spock would like to grace me with his presence, it's ready for him," he replied, folding his arms with a pointed look at the Vulcan.

Phan and Uhura smiled at his humor, and Spock replied off-handedly, "I am certain that I can find a few moments."

"In that case, then, does anyone have any questions?" At the room's silence, Kirk concluded, "Dismissed."

XXXXXX

"This model will be able to keep you from inhaling the humid air," McCoy explained as he held out the oxygen mask to Spock. It was a typical transparent mask that bore a key difference, in that it hooked around to the back, where a mechanism allowed for it to re-breathe. A small speaker was built into it to allow Spock to be heard. It was bulky and not attractive, given the crunch of time employed by the medical and science technicians he had collaborated with on the project, but it would protect him.

Spock turned the mask over in his hands. "This should suit my need in a satisfactory manner. Thank you, doctor."

Leaning back against the biobed behind him, McCoy refused to allow the unspoken matter to sit. "You have a bad habit of allowing your health to slide when you're fixated on something."

"Hence why I am respecting your judgment in this," Spock gently argued, indicating the mask he still held, "Frankly, I find your protectiveness irrational and uncalled for. This is a diplomatic mission. Miss Phan is your priority, not me."

"The landing party's my priority," he corrected, "You're a logical man, Spock. Part of that is taking care of yourself."

"Then I will yield," he allowed, "With the stipulation that you place our diplomat first."

McCoy's shoulders rose and fell with a great release of breath. "Mr. Spock, I would say that you were exhibiting human pettiness just now."

"No, Leonard," he replied, gathering the mask close to himself before turning to leave, "I am merely acting the part of the logical man that you have claimed me to be." As the doors closed behind his lover, McCoy rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

XXXXXX

The legislative building, Kirk noted, held a similar style to the other Norsican buildings in the metropolis, being jagged, and bearing a flume of gutters to allow for rainwater runoff to be collected on the lower levels, and funneled into reflecting pools. Statues of past Norsican birth queens stood upon spires, with their arms and heads raised skyward. Some bore swords and spears, others children, and others still books or scepters. The most prominent sat upon what appeared to be a mound of eggs.

On top of the stairs before them stood two of the four Norsican birth queens. Kirk, upon careful notation of their features, understood who was who. Yi stood to his right and appeared wider in the hips. She was also taller, and her features were weary, betraying the tiredness of a long life. Her eyes were amber, and the crest of her head through her transparent veil stood taller, resembling a gazelle's horns. Meylu was to his left, her cyan eyes contrasting Yi's amber ones. She was narrower in frame, with a look of playfulness about her. Kirk at first took it to be flirtation, and kept his guard up, especially more so upon slowly registering that her body language held more in common with a cat that batted about a toy.

Armed guards carrying phaser rifles lined the stairs. In partitioned areas of the botanical square that stood before the building, reporters and onlookers called out ignored questions to the landing party, who wore hooded cloaks over their uniforms and clothing. Rain continued to fall.

Yi started down the stairs, with Meylu a few paces behind her. She raised her arm to the side and spun it slightly overhead to connect the tips of her fingers with her other hand, whose arm was upheld horizontally with the elbow bent. "Captain Kirk, welcome to Norsica."

Kirk inclined his head respectfully toward her. Meylu repeated the gesture, only with her attention turned to Spock. "Commander Spock, welcome."

Spock greeted Meylu with the Vulcan salute, and Yi gazed appraisingly over the landing party. "Who are these other people?"

Kirk indicated each in turn, moving from McCoy, to Uhura, and finally to Chekov, leaving Phan absent from the headcount. Meylu's gaze paused upon McCoy, and her look became speculative. McCoy met her head on but turned to glance at Kirk. Kirk held a hand out before McCoy, and Meylu turned her sight away.

"You may bring forth your diplomat," Yi declared.

Phan stepped forward and folded her arms respectfully at each queen. "Greetings, your Highnesses. I am Yen Tien Phan. I apologize for the situation, but I offer my services to you."

"You appear suitable," Yi commented, and Phan inclined her head at the praise.

Meylu turned her attention to Yi. "I think it would be wise if the physician came with the Federation's diplomat. We are at a critical juncture in our conversation, and we would not wish to lose this mediator, either."

Yi looked over at McCoy. "I would agree with you, but he does pose a security risk. Come here, please, doctor." Kirk nodded at him, and McCoy moved past him to stand on the step beside Phan. "Yes, there are a few devices he must remove," she decided, "That phaser is too dangerous. Open your bag. I want to see what is inside." McCoy gripped at the strap of it but didn't move. "I have given you an order, doctor," Yi pushed.

"With all due respect, ma'am, you aren't my commanding officer."

Kirk stifled a smile. "You can show her, Bones."

Opening the bag, McCoy pulled out his tricorder and medical scanner. "Some of my field instruments. Are they acceptable?"

Yi glanced at Meylu, who raised her hand in agreement. "Very well. Have you a communication device on you?"

"Yes."

"That must also remain. We cannot allow for our meeting to be broadcast."

Before McCoy could react, Kirk replied, "I'm afraid that's not possible. My medical officer will need his communicator in case of an emergency. The phaser can be left."

Yi stood stalk still. "Excuse me? This is a manner of planetary security. It cannot be argued."

"If I may?" Spock inquired.

Yi and Meylu swung their heads about to look at him. "Yes?" Yi asked, her tone tight.

"Should any harm befall the doctor, or our diplomat, the responsibility will be upon your shoulders, as they are within your domain. Furthermore, if I encounter any issue with my oxygen mask, I will require the doctor's assistance," Spock pointed out.

"Perhaps, then, you should return to your ship," Yi replied.

Chekov's hand twitched at that, and McCoy's gaze narrowed at Yi. Kirk, however, spoke. "I am showing you my respect by bringing my first officer with me. Please afford us the same respect."

McCoy swallowed a grunt of disdain. He should have known that Spock would resort to subterfuge, even if It came at the cost of his own health. He made a mental note to chastise him about that later.

"Very well," Meylu replied, "If this truly bothers you so, I don't see any further reason to continue this argument. It is a waste of time."

Yi glanced over at her before lowering her shoulders. "You may take the communicator with you, doctor. However, you will face your penalties if you misuse it." McCoy nodded in acknowledgment and walked down the stairs to hand his phaser over to Kirk. As he returned to stand beside Phan, Yi inquired, "is there anything else that must be addressed?"

"What will our rights be, within the city?" Kirk inquired.

"The same as are afforded to any off-worlders. We do not play favorites," Meylu replied, her quickening voice indicating that she wished to cut off the conversation.

Kirk smiled. "Thank you. That will be all."

"Then we will see you in a few hours' time, Captain," Phan said before walking up the stairs, McCoy at her side.

The landing party moved away from the stairs, and into the crowds. Military marched through, broken up by the blue bodies of civilians, while off-world individuals milled about in hooded cloaks. "If we're going to be spending the day here, we may as well have a look around," Kirk commented.

"Agreed," Spock replied, "though I would advise for the landing party not be broken up completely."

"By halves, then?" Kirk offered.

"That would be most wise. Lieutenant?" Spock asked Uhura, who was entering the mixed linguistics she had overheard into her tricorder. She raised her head from work to indicate agreement at his selection before dropping back to it.

Chekov gave a stiff nod of reassurance at Kirk, finding that he was not quite ready for his situation. However, he relaxed himself. This was his commanding officer, who would not have picked him to walk around with him otherwise.

"All right. We'll meet at the square in a few hours. Keep in touch, and don't get lost," Kirk decided as the group split in two.


	2. Chapter 2

Similarly to other cities in a time nearing war, Evarra's population moved quickly.

Noriscans quickly passed by off-worlders. Most of the natives moved quickly away from the authorities, and toward their destination. Several wore khahki service uniforms, and disappeared down into the gutters, into the subway openings in the concrete, or up on scaffolding. Others, clutching PADDs in waterproof containers, and wearing ponchos over well-kept clothing, darted off to tall office buildings. Rain battered walkway coverings. Restaurants were closed to the outer world, though their signs invited patrons to enter. Advertisements played on screens, which Spock found to be rather saccharine. One included a female Norsican clasping her hands together, her upper body bent slightly forward, with an eager nod as a male Norsican provided her with a pearl necklace in an open box. Another showed a rolling, open-top vehicle moving into a forest with several Norsicans crowded into it and waving, taking care to hold on and duck under low-hanging branches.

Uhura was careful with processing the linguistic information, first by dumping out the exterior contact from Federation races and narrowing in on the Norsican linguistics. Most of the spoken words were by more typical dialects based upon Yi's words. Noreen's dialect was non-existent in the immediate area, while Ziza's was rare, though she did note it mainly came from the gutter areas. Meylu's was the second most popular and tended to interweave with Yi's. Focusing upon the crossing of dialects, she drowned out the advertisements and public service announcement transmissions of closed walkways, and a reminder to report any suspicious activity to the authorities. Veering away from police-related transmissions, she dug further through.

A wisp flitted across her screen. It was a short transmission, and she had seen it before while digging through the other transmissions. Despite its short length, however, it continued to appear. Stopping the transmission, she ran over it again more carefully. She paused before a bench and stuck her foot upon the seat as if checking her boot. Spock, noticing her motion, stopped, but said nothing. Glancing over at the window he was near, he caught the reflection of several Vulcans, the turning of their heads causing their oxygen masks to glint, walking past on the other street.

Uhura's foot dropped, and she moved toward him, as if staring into the shop's window. She slunk past upon reaching him, toward a side alley with an unlocked metal gate. Hesitating for a few moments, Spock followed as the Vulcan party slipped out of sight.

"There is an anomaly," she commented quietly. Kneeling, she uncovered the tricorder in its entirety, and carefully commanded it to focus upon the irregular pattern. Taking it slightly in hand, Spock glanced over her work. The wavelength jumped and stretched, breaking at irregular intervals. It was weak, buried under the city's commotion. It repeated itself at a low decibel every thirty to forty-five seconds, short, and chopped.

He chose to test her on it. "Why should this interest us, Lieutenant?"

"The situation on this world is delicate, and major disturbances to it can tilt the political climate further into turmoil. If it is nothing, then we can allow the matter to sit. We're merely fulfilling our duty of protecting Diplomat Phan by investigating this."

"And if it is nothing? We will have intruded upon Norsican privacy, or rather, the privacy of other citizens of the Federation," he argued.

"We would not leap so quickly into it," she argued, "We can study it from a distance, first, and then act. This isn't the frontier, Mr. Spock, rather it's the settled world."

"Would this be a wasted venture, then, if that is the outcome?" Spock inquired.

"We won't have invested resources into it, save time, and a charge on the tricorder," Uhura answered with a slight smile, "That would have been time we would have spent wandering aimlessly about."

"Very well, then," he allowed, "We shall begin."

Enlarging the transmission, she brought it up on the screen for closer examination. "This the general direction it is receiving from, however it could be anything. I'll need to get closer to determine what is being broadcast," Uhura commented, though her curiosity was piqued, given the amount of time they had to kill.

Spock lifted his head. "It would be worth examination."

Utilizing the tricorder as a beacon, Uhura led them off through the streets, with Spock subtly guiding her about. Police leaned on hoverbikes, while others patrolled the area. They were helmeted and held riot shields. Passerby quickly stepped out of their way. Whenever a helmet swung toward Spock, he would lower his gaze, or turn his head away, indicating submission. Likely, they had reports with his profile on them at their local stations, therefore it was not advisable to step out of line.

The crowds thinned as Uhura continued to read her tricorder carefully, the beacon itself remaining at a constant low. He wasn't surprised by that, as it had to be subtle to avoid detection over the airwaves, however he did have his suspicions. Namely, why the police weren't picking it up to begin with, or for that matter, the military.

Side streets wound off, with flitters passing them more sparsely. Uhura wrinkled her nose at the smells of organic garbage from the backs of the restaurants and found that she was envious of Spock's having a breathing apparatus. In the distance, low and close together housing appeared, with a window opening as someone dumped dirty water into a gutter. "I would advise against continuing in that direction," Spock commented as two male Norsicans, talking in low tones, abruptly cut off their conversation at their footsteps, and walked away.

Uhura nodded, ant they slipped into a side street, which was lined with metal boxes and crates. A hoverbike was chained to a post. Calibrating the tricorder carefully, she compared it with an overlay of the city map. Spock, taking out his own tricorder, cross-referenced her observations with the sociological mapping of the area. "It appears to be in this district," she tapped the square shape of a building, its outer line surroundings indicating a parking lot.

"It is a storehouse in civilian jurisdiction," Spock confirmed. Lowering it, he observed, "Frankly, this appears to be too obvious."

Uhura glanced up. "Agreed, but the transmitter is still broadcasting and working." She carefully relayed the noise into the tricorder's speaker and heard background footfalls and papers shuffling. Muffled voices spoke in the background. Enhancing the quality, she heard comments as to concerns over the city's building projects, as well as over the meeting between the queens. Further comments referred to reports about several local businesses concerned over embargos levied by Meylu's domain against Ziza, and whether Yi would follow suit. Census data broke through in the background, with the calculation of climbing birth rates. "These are all ambient sounds from within the legislative building."

"It is worth an investigation, however there are clearly other forces at work here." Spock pulled his communicator out. "We will require assistance with this."

Uhura, despite the unease of the situation, felt a jolt of adrenaline at the prospect of investigation. Nonetheless she kept it subdued and decided against considering the ramifications of failure. In this, she intended to win.

XXXXXX

Beyond the fence, heavy machinery rolled. The size of them was similar to the images Kirk had seen of tanks from human history, but the frame was lower to the ground, and pointed. Rain pelted the windows, and the drops were illuminated in a ghostly fashion by the headlights. Thin and tall Norsicans, their bodies being similar in format to Yi's, were moving among them, their helmets and guns indicating that they were soldiers.

With a splitting whir, one of them lurched forward over spiked tires, its top rising to display a pair of horizontal drills. The drills lowered toward the ground, and the craft slowly borrowed into it.

Chekov glanced at Kirk, and asked, his voice betraying his curiosity, as well as a slight sense of shock, "What are they, sir?"

"Earth-eaters," he replied, recalling the image from his notes, "They are capable of tunneling above and below ground. The large compartment in the back allows for troop transport."

"But sir, if the ground is loose in the war-torn regions, it will cause mudslides," Chekov whispered in an alarmed tone. He swallowed. "This can't be allowed."

"Hence why Phan's here," he replied gently, glancing about, "We should probably leave." Chekov subconsciously patted the phaser at his side as he followed his captain away.

The city streets were crowded with pedestrians who took care to move free of the heavy vehicles that rumbled through, bearing soldiers, ammunition, and industrial equipment. Towering above the streets were panels that bore messages from news reporters and captured footage of Phan and McCoy ascending the stairs to the government building. Kirk and Chekov, keeping their hoods raised, stuck out somewhat, but not by much, as aliens also traveled within the area.

Kirk stopped beneath one and craned his neck. Three Norsicans sat about a round table, with the image of Phan, her hood down, superimposed in the background. A ticker on the bottom ran questions as to whether the Federation was to be trusted. What had caught his attention, however, was that the ticker was asking questions as to whether McCoy was up to the task of keeping the diplomat alive. Slowly, Phan's image faded away to be replaced with an image of ships that were passing back and forth before the dock, lined with natives in diving gear. Banners were hoisted over them in a salute to their queens. According to the captions, Ziza's were the plainer, with brown and gold jags across them, while Noreen's depicted royal purple and black interweaving in a spiral pattern.

He lowered his head, wishing to have had the opportunity to speak with Ziza and Noreen, as well. However, due to the technological advancement of Yi and Meylu's societies, their words had been efficient enough. Nevertheless, not speaking with them wasn't going to do the landing party any favors.

Soldiers continued to march by in groups, their military uniforms a dark silver and navy camouflage. The units were unisex, and sleek. On the backs of several, who rode on wheeled vehicles, were tanks of oxygen. Passerby occasionally waved or tossed favors at them, to which the soldiers waved in response.

Kirk stood back from it, disgusted. Spock likely would have made a comment. "Look, sir," Chekov whispered, and pointed off to where a few Noriscans stood on raised platforms, their turquoise cloaks lined with silver indicating that they were city officials. An elderly Norsican with medals on his chest bearing inscriptions of pointed blades proudly stood, waving his fist in the air. To the gathered young Norsicans below, he exclaimed, "Who will join me, to defend the queen?"

"We will!" A few of them chanted, holding up hands in the air.

"Who will defend our families, our very livelihood?"

"We will!" More hands waved in the air.

"And who will show the Federation that we are not a force to be manipulated?"

"We will!" All hands waved in the air, the young people chanting and stomping their feet.

"Correct me if I am wrong, but I don't think they'd want to be saying that," Chekov commented.

"That's the military's opinion. They're free to have it. Nevertheless, we should keep moving," Kirk replied, waving an arm. Chekov followed alongside him as he continued, "The trick is to not allow the military to overtake the power and needs of the government. We serve the Federation, and the Federation serves the people."

"What would prevent that, then?" Chekov inquired.

"Checks and balances, typically. However, it's easy for that to slip, due to sectionalism."

Noriscan women filed by, with a pair of eyes swinging about to look at Kirk. He smiled warmly, and the woman ran off. Glancing over, he noticed that the store they had exited appeared to be selling vitamins to increase crest growth and fertility. Off in the distance, he noticed a Norsican child, being led along by its mother, waving a stuffed creature in the air that appeared to have webbed wings and feet. Further off, an Andorian woman knelt before another Norsican child, and held out her hands to her. The Noriscan child's mother titled her head and smiled at her.

His communicator beeped, and he flipped it open, wiping at the rain that spattered the screen. "Kirk, here."

"Spock here, captain."

Chekov turned back, and moved after Kirk, who gestured for him to follow him into a less-populated alcove. "Go ahead."

"Lieutenant Uhura and I appear to have discovered the source of a receiver. It is likely that it is receiving a transmission from the legislative building."

"How were you able to determine that?" Kirk inquired.

"Lieutenant Uhura traced the wavelength, and examined the content accordingly. The receiver appears to be in one of the storehouses on the outskirts of the shopping district. We are requesting permission to investigate it."

"Do you think this is the only receiver?" Kirk pressed. Chekov looked skeptical, but left the conversation to glance about, and check over the area.

"That is doubtful, captain. Otherwise, it would not have been easy for us to pick up the transmission."

"What would be the purpose of infiltrating it?"

"If the talks are compromised, then this would place Diplomat Phan and Doctor McCoy in danger. It is a preventative measure."

"Good, we have our reason, in case this backfires," he replied, "You two must also not listen to it."

"Understood. However, what I would advise is for a distraction. We cannot afford to be caught."

"So, what we'll need to do is cause a stir," Kirk commented, "though we'll have to be careful, as we're standing on a powder keg."

Chekov's eyes widened at that, but he waved a hand to recover himself. "Just give the order, sir, and I will help."

Kirk smiled. "What would you say to a friendly debate, Mr. Chekov?"

A small smile slid onto the ensign's face. "We would not have to look far for one here, captain."

XXXXXX

The legislative building's interior was vast, with the ceiling being vaulted. Norsicans, as the queens passed, bowed and gave Yi praises. The occupants of the building were dressed in office or service clothing, leading off into libraries or administrative areas. Yi offered the usage of the food services and restrooms to her human guests, but also warned them not to stray.

McCoy wondered for a moment where the consorts were but doubted he would physically see them.

Gun carriers populated the area more and more, the closer they came to the center of the building, with the group passing through several locked doors. McCoy and Phan were searched more than once, with Yi apologizing. Meylu merely looked bored.

The hallway opened to a circular room, and standing in it were differing guards, those wearing diving gear and naval-based uniforms. In the back of the room appeared to be a pod-like door that curved outward, white in color with a dark viewing window. Standing in the middle of them were two female figures, one with goggles and one without, their helmets off. The former strode forward. "What's this? We were told that only one human would enter."

"Only the diplomat is important, Ziza. This is a physician to care for her," Meylu replied, indicating McCoy with an off-hand wave.

"I see. Then you must be Dr. McCoy, who was on-duty at the time of Diplomat Hedford's death," Ziza commented.

He lowered his head respectfully before standing back to full height. "Yes, Your Highness, that was me."

"Well, you clearly were unfit, as Diplomat Hedford is now dead," Ziza replied, her tone conveying annoyance.

McCoy's cheek stung from the proverbial backhand. "Diplomat Hedford's unfortunate loss was largely due to engine failure. We lacked the proper facilities to treat her while stranded."

The other figure stepped forward, slowly, her weight irregularly balanced upon her legs. "Regardless, we have the proper facilities now. The replacement?"

Phan folded her arms at each, and they did not greet her in return with gestures. "Diplomat Phan, Your Highnesses."

"The interior room does not echo. I advise you to speak up while inside there, woman." Ziza shrugged. "She'll do."

Noreen nodded. "If she is the best the Federation can offer now, then beggars cannot be choosers. Fall in."

Ziza turned her back on Phan and stepped to the right. Similarly turning her back, Noreen walked to stand behind her, dragging her one leg. Yi moved forward to stand on Ziza's left, with Meylu bringing up the rear at Noreen's left. After handing her communicator over to a demanding guard, Phan quietly took her place in the middle.

McCoy mentally ran over the ages and conditions of each queen as the group departed. Yi was suffering from arthritic conditions, and, previously, had undergone severe bodily stress due to her reproductive capabilities shutting down. Meylu was the second oldest at 132. She was still in good health. Ziza was behind her at 105, and her goggles were prescription due to a chemical spill damaging her eyesight. Noreen was the youngest at sixty-four and had a slight limp from an encounter with a deep-sea creature.

"Surgeon." He turned at the sound of a voice and saw a soldier with a rifle in his hands. Gesturing with it, he commanded, "This way."

"You may monitor your diplomat's condition only, during these three hours. Any attempts to investigate the medical conditions of any other representatives, or to interrupt the discussion will result in your ejection. Do you understand?"

McCoy nodded his head as he was led to sit down upon a hard-backed chair. The cloak cushioned him somewhat, and a side table nearby allowed for him to place his bag down. His communicator stood beside the bag. A video camera, shaped in a sideways oval, jutted above a two-way window. A door led off into a short hallway which curved into the isolation chamber. The door out to the main area was closed and blocked by the guard who had confiscated Phan's communicator. McCoy had barely managed to keep hold of his. His tricorder was fed into a console that stood below the window. An antenna jutted toward the table, allowing him to read the diplomat's life signs.

McCoy focused his attention upon Phan, his thoughts only wandering somewhat.

Spock would be fine, he told himself. Jim would send him back to the ship if he started to get sick. Nonetheless, he felt protective of him, on this alien world that teetered on the brink of war. He'd seen war firsthand, and wanted, selfishly, to keep the younger man away from it, if possible.

The darkness Phan sat in, cast in that single spotlight, disturbed him.

In the shadows of McCoy's mind, Spock's double had lurked.

There had been light in-between it. He would spend time off-duty with Chapel, or the other doctors and nurses in sickbay. It felt good to drink with Jim and Scotty again. Time burned onto a page as McCoy wrote more of his dissertation upon alien life that had been discovered. He composed letters to Joanna more often now, with her responses being few and far between, probably due to school, or the fact that he hadn't previously written this often to her.

On-duty, however, it seemed Apollo's legacy whispered on. On a planet orbiting a white dwarf star, a group of nocturnal sentient beings greeted Kirk's landing party. They appeared to be the silhouetted images of three humans, the middle resembling a man with a thick bag holding something slung over his one side. To his right was a female figure, who appeared to be carrying a spear. The wood thumped and banged off trees and the ground as she fidgeted. To his left was a mountain of a man, who carried a massive shield. "Please, leave," the middle figure entreated, "Hades does not want you to be here. He has brought a god into the underworld, now, due to the brutality of you and your crewmen, captain."

Waves lapped against the shore behind the landing party, and McCoy turned at the sound of footsteps over the sand. He was startled to see the silhouette of a woman walking into the waves. He moved to stop her when Spock held out an arm to bar his path. "Look," he instructed quietly, holding up his tricorder.

McCoy glanced down at it, and back up in shock as the woman's head vanished below the waves. No life readings at all. It was as if she not been there to begin with. Something heavy clomped along further down the beach, and the two watched the outline of a massive equine-looking creature with wings, and a man astride it. Beating them, it ascended into the heavens, vanishing into the darkness, its heading just slightly angled out of range of the Enterprise. McCoy looked over at Spock again, who shook his head.

Having missed part of the conversation, they returned their attention back to Kirk, who was asking, "Who are you?"

"Please, leave," the middle figure replied, "We will not ask you again."

The Enterprise left the planet quietly, albeit not without Kirk commenting to McCoy after exiting the transporter room, "I had the feeling we were being watched."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "By more of those figures? Or something else?"

Spock pulled the tricorder from his bag and presented it to them. "There was one reading I was able to garner from the planet. It was weak, though consistent."

Kirk looked it over and glanced back up at him. "A seismic reading?"

"Partially correct, captain. However, watch their fluctuations. You will note they form a pattern, perhaps one that the doctor would be familiar with."

"An average human male's pulse," McCoy commented, "But Apollo and especially Hades are different from us. This shouldn't match so closely."

"Unless he wanted to indicate to us that he was there," Kirk speculated, "However, we aren't a threat to him, now."

"Perhaps even a god who has ascended past this plain is still concerned with the issue of harming a member of his family, or his race," Spock commented, "Similarly, the Organians expressed disdain with our methods upon their world, and they also were noncorporeal."

"Funny," McCoy folded his arms, "Even the gods refuse to forsake emotion. Perhaps the Vulcans could learn from this."

"Doctor, recall that in several of your Greek tragedies, a fatal flaw made by its protagonists was by comparing themselves to, or thinking themselves better than, the gods," Spock replied evenly.

Typically, Kirk would have found McCoy's annoyed reaction amusing, but then, he had a bad taste in his mouth. He recalled that one of those examples had been Niobe.

"Nevertheless," Spock put away the tricorder, "it will prove interesting to study further."

"Though not by humans," Kirk commented quietly, "I'll have to place a specific quarantine on that world. We'll leave immediately. I need to inform Starfleet Command."

"Aye, captain."

Kirk departed, and McCoy commented, "Of all the worlds to arrive at…I wasn't expecting it to be the land of the dead."

"I would not give such emotional attachment to the figures we saw," Spock replied, "they likely were projections of an era before. Hades was merely remembering each fallen hero or character from ancient Greece."

"That doesn't explain what happened to the real ones," McCoy pressed.

"You seem to be disturbed by the idea of what occurs after death," Spock observed.

"Not disturbed," he replied, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, "Just trying to cling to the few scraps of what makes sense, these days."

Spock was quiet for a moment before responding, "You recall that our mission is to seek out new life. However, our discoveries may also lead to an eventual bending, or reformatting, of established philosophy."

"What did I get myself into," McCoy muttered, shaking his head, "I'm not sure if we're ready for that yet."

"Perhaps not," Spock allowed, "but the truth should not be concealed. Still, these findings remain in their infancy, for the moment."

McCoy shook his head and headed off to sickbay. "Great, and if I happen to miraculously start flying through the air, please yank me back down to the floor. I'm not ready for that, yet, either."

The nightmares continued, but they were lesser in frequency after his first meld with Spock. When he was able, Spock did spend the night lying with him, projecting relaxed lines of thought to him. McCoy, however, nudged him away from his nightmares, saying it was something he wanted to keep to himself. He couldn't have Spock heal everything, and nonetheless he did feel somewhat embarrassed, as the assault had, despite or perhaps because of its primal nature, involuntarily aroused him. Spock's counterpart had used that as a weapon, among other things.

Spock didn't judge him for this, to his knowledge. He did however, feel Spock tugging him out of it, if the nightmare became too severe. Hovering over him and stroking his hair and face comfortingly with his long fingers, Spock coaxed his thoughts to relax. In these instances, Spock remained out of McCoy's eyeshot as he ran his fingers over his neck and shoulder. McCoy did sleep while facing him, but the carnal memory had placed a barrier between them.

But in more recent times, McCoy would occasionally reach up, and grasp his hand, squeezing it. Invitingly, on lesser occasions, he would kiss it. Spock, however, would not be so eager in reciprocation. A kiss would be placed to the side of McCoy's head before the Vulcan would lie back down beside him, an arm draped protectively over him.

Spock had arrived in his room, one night, bearing a totem. "It is more a gesture than much else," he explained, "It is used to ward off spirits who mean ill."

"For all that you talk about me being a witch doctor," McCoy shook his head, "You're looking like a hypocrite, Spock." However, he took it from him to set down above his bed. "I'll see if it does any good." From behind, one hand gently placed itself upon his forehead, and ran over his hair, allowing strands to fall, while the other found his elbow. A kiss was placed upon the top of his head.

McCoy folded his arms, his muted reflection mirroring the action as he watched the queens bend forward over the table and argue, Ziza slamming her elbow down to emphasize a point. Yi jabbed her finger in the air at her opponent. Phan spread her arms, her pulse rising, and leaned forward, swinging her head back and forth, clearly trying to place the room back in order. Meylu and Noreen carried on a sidebar conversation, with the former tauntingly waving her hands in the air, and the latter shaking her head in annoyance.

"He didn't put his hands on you, did he?" McCoy had asked Spock before.

"No," he replied, snapping shut the book he had been reading, and glancing up at him.

McCoy smiled, and gave a relieved sigh. "Shouldn't have worried, I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I should've asked you if you were all right after I got back from the alternate universe. Dealing with the other Spock was more than enough. I can't imagine what could've happened to you with four of them."

"Calm yourself," Spock answered gently, "You and the other members of the away team were outnumbered in the alternate universe. That was not the case with the remaining members of the crew and myself. As to whether you should have come to me, do not take that out upon yourself."

"I avoided you for no reason," McCoy replied, slapping his hands at his sides for emphasis.

"In my point of view at that instant, yes. Though, even when you climbed down from the transporter pad, I was only concerned, nothing more," Spock reassured, bracing his hand upon the chair's arm, his long fingers hanging down over it.

McCoy swallowed as he more closely registered his lover's body language. Spock had leaned slightly backward in his chair, the book lying askew in his lap, signifying his undivided attention and a laxing of his typical polished manner. Jim had told him about what happened, he knew that. As far as Spock's reaction to it, he hadn't been privy, and speculating upon it would only have been self-indulgence.

Mentally, he had been out of sorts, only able to anchor himself down by his work. So much for studying psychology when the lunatic ran the asylum. He'd felt as if he had been going through the motions, locking himself into a routine to keep himself from walking into the trap of thinking on the past. It was a suspended way of living, one that kept him on a rail. A part of him that he wouldn't admit to would have preferred not to see his own Spock again as a lover, but he had pushed it aside, and joined him in the arboretum that day, albeit with hesitation. It hadn't been Spock's fault, and despite their arguments, Spock had showed him nothing but kindness in their relationship. He didn't wish to hurt him.

"He wanted me, though as a substitute," Spock replied, folding his hands, "I find it strange that, in both instances, each man was driven by a carnal desire."

McCoy's fist clenched. Here Spock was being so utterly scientific, whereas he was speaking about someone who threatened to sexually assault him. "He better not have touched a hair on your head," he growled.

"No," he replied flatly, "though he did look at me."

McCoy swung his fist through the air. "Oh, for fuck's sake, could either one of them have kept in their pants for a couple of hours?! What the hell is wrong with them?"

"You seem to ask many questions about that alternate universe that we may never have the answers for," Spock commented.

"You said once that I haunted you," McCoy pressed, "Why?"

"That was in the past," Spock answered.

McCoy's fist shook. "Tell me," he growled, "You kept pon farr from me. You owe me this much."

After a pause, Spock replied, "It is for two reasons. The first should be obvious to you, but I will elucidate: I ultimately desire for you to be my mate, but if you do not wish the same, I will respect your decision. The second was my own reconciliation with you, as you are, with your counterpart."

"You told me that he and I were different people, during your first mind meld with me," McCoy commented, arching an eyebrow, "Had you actually come to that conclusion, by then, or had you said it merely for my benefit?"

"Vulcans do not lie," Spock replied.

"Kindly don't throw an adage in my face," McCoy reprimanded.

"That was your answer," Spock said, "Before I had melded with you, I had made that distinction."

"What brought you to it?" He asked quietly.

"Is that question necessary?"

McCoy jabbed his finger at the floor in frustration. "Yes, it matters! I saw myself shoot my own wife in cold blood! I mutilated helpless patients! Riley, Rand, Bailey, Mears! I worked with these people! They trusted me!" His voice cracked on his last exclamation, and he cleared his throat to reclaim it.

"No, you didn't, and you would not," Spock comforted, "Your compassion for sentient life differs you from him, and, according to the captain, it was to the point where it nearly proved your undoing."

"I've taken a life before, not to mention that it was the last of its kind. That's moot," McCoy argued quietly.

"You did so to protect the captain and me. The M-113 creature was not listening to reason, and it would have killed us."

McCoy set his jaw. "This is why your pragmatism gets on my nerves. You're handwaving the fact that I caused the extinction of a race, meanwhile," he pointed off into space, "my counterpart did the exact same thing to the Capellans of his universe."

"By disposing of them as foot soldiers to topple the current regime. The scenarios were different," Spock assured, "While I sympathize with your unhappiness, and mourn the loss of that being's life, we would not be having this conversation otherwise. Your counterpart did not give the Capellans pause."

"Then what still bothered you about me?"

"I am half human," Spock admitted and said no more.

McCoy felt a lump in his throat and regretted pressing him too hard. Swallowing a few times to regain his voice, he replied, "I'd never do that to you."

"You need not have said that, but the sentiment is appreciated," Spock replied, "Hence, I ultimately chose not to step back from my desire to have you as my mate."

McCoy's knees buckled, and he collapsed on the other chair positioned to face Spock's. "You still want me in there, with you?" Spock nodded. "Beg your pardon, but are you crazy? Why?" McCoy shook his head. "Especially after T'Pring."

"If you are concerned over your pride being spared, you need not worry," Spock replied, folding his arms, "It is not merely to assist in the healing process. I had not a choice in my bond with T'Pring, but this choice is mine."

"Enjoying your agency?" McCoy asked.

"It also would have been my choice to end the marriage," Spock pointed out in an off-hand tone.

McCoy didn't let him slip away that quickly. "But you chose duty over that," he leaned forward, his hands folded, "I wasn't enough to keep you from wanting to be purely Vulcan."

"I would be concerned, if you would throw your life away for someone else," Spock argued.

"And live in a loveless marriage? I've done that, Spock. It's utter hell," McCoy replied, his voice taking on an edge.

"Many Vulcans do, doctor," Spock chided, "You forget again our cultural differences. Would you care for me to remind you that for hundreds of years, humans also abided by this practice, and did so out of duty?"

McCoy ran his hands over his eyes. "You barely talked about her, Spock. What did she put you through?"

"That is between her and myself," he replied firmly.

McCoy realized that he had stepped over the line and corrected himself, dropping his hands. "Sorry. I should've known." Spock heard the disappointment in his voice.

Patiently, Spock explained, "Again, you miss my point. It was merely to fulfill pon farr. Nothing more, nothing less."

McCoy glared crossly at him. "And you didn't tell me because…?"

"Though I am asleep, I can still sense your thoughts when you wake up in the middle of the night, and our bodies are in physical contact," he explained, "You have multiple reservations against a mental bond, and I can understand why. Hence, I did not bring it up. I did not want you to feel obligated to offer yourself to me when I entered pon farr. I was," he glanced away from him, "not myself. Fair to say I wanted your judgement when I took you and the captain with me to Vulcan. If you would not have wished to continue, then you could have voiced it then." McCoy's gaze gradually softened, and Spock added, "If it truly bothers you as much as it does now, I suppose it begs the question as to why you have not left me."

"You came back with us," McCoy replied simply, "and you were worried about Jim, more than much else. You weren't even mad when you found out what I did. That showed me where your values lay." He leaned forward. "But, as for T'Pring, I don't profess to know what happened between you two, and I can't speak on it. Nevertheless, I'll be honest and tell you I have my misgivings."

"You are free to have them," Spock allowed.

"Oh?" McCoy teased, "No hasty reassurances or arguments?"

"I will allow my actions to speak for me, as I have done so in the past," he explained.

"Yeah, well, I'd prefer if you didn't listen to me talking in my sleep," McCoy muttered, "And if I don't come around to the idea?"

"I will keep my word. If you do not wish to bond with me, then that is fine."

McCoy masked the fact that he was feeling rather flustered with a pitying look. "Face it, hobgoblin, you're lost."

"I have little reason to care," Spock replied as his lover rose. He picked up the book and placed it on a side table. Holding his hands up, he guided McCoy to sit on his lap.

The lights in the room rose, and Phan stood from the table, exiting through a door directly behind her. Intermission would last for an hour before the meeting would resume. "You all right?" McCoy inquired as she sat down on his empty chair. Her face was ashen, and strands of her hair had fallen forward.

She sighed. "The queens are difficult to moderate."

"That's saying little," McCoy noted, "Here, come with me, we'll have a drink," he offered. Phan nodded, and rose with a relieved expression to follow him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silhouettes encountered by the away team (in order): Perseus, Atalanta, Ajax, Anticlea, and Bellerophon. I had reservations about having McCoy's thoughts wander, however he is still paying attention to Phan. This was mainly done to indicate that three hours are passing by while he is monitoring her. I have a rule when it comes to writing OC's: the story will always be told from the canon characters' point-of-view. Therefore, Phan will not be followed around in this.


	3. Chapter 3

McCoy led Phan out into the hallway where other Norsicans were passing through, loaded down with paperwork. A few of them side-eyed the two humans without a word.

Phan glanced about warily. "I hope you don't consider me a burden."

McCoy waved the notion away. "It's my job. I assume the peasants won't be eating with the queens?"

That earned him a snort from Phan. "No, certainly not. We'll just make do with what we have."

They entered through a wide arch and found themselves in a hall filled with tables. Sitting at them were bureaucrats, who didn't bother to look up at the sight of them, engrossed as they were in their day-to-day activities.

"Diplomat Phan?"

They turned to see a Norsican, his forehead lined with age, and clad in a tailed suit walking over to them. He bowed to them, and Phan inquired, "Yes?"

He gestured to a smaller circular arch off to the side. "In here, please."

The background chatter died down as they followed him into the room. The area was much smaller, and it housed a more diverse crowd of off-world sentients. A couple of the stronger-built Norsicans sat far off to the side, their diving helmets removed. Their guide brought them to a table set near the window facing the building's garden, with rain pounding on it. Low-to-the-ground plants waved in the background from the barrage. Ivy climbed the perimeter wall. "You may order anything you like. It's on the house."

"Do you prefer anything?" McCoy asked.

"Personally, I'm more hungry than thirsty. Something sweet, with ginger," she commented as they sat down. Her eyes narrowing, she muttered, "Never mind, they wouldn't have that plant here in a large quantity, and I desire no special treatment. I will have Kasva sweetbread," she decided, referring to a dish from the prominent mountain range in Yi's domain.

"The equivalent you have to Terran coffee, please," McCoy said to the guide, who nodded his head, and relayed the order to a passing waitress.

"My readings?" Phan inquired, gesturing at his tricorder.

"They're displaying the basic traits of stress in a human being, no more and no less. Physically, you're fine."

Phan smiled. "Well, I suppose that's something to feel grateful for."

A waitress bearing a tray over her head set it down before them. A cup of an orange liquid was steaming, with a carafe beside it. On the other side of the tray sat flat pieces of pone, with a white, sweet-smelling substance packed onto them. Bowing to them, she quietly moved away. McCoy sniffed once at the liquid, and his eyes widened at the sharp smell that reminded him vaguely of cinnamon. "Well, that'll wake someone up," he commented.

Phan's smile widened, only to slowly vanish. Raising one of the pieces of flatbread, she paused, and inquired, "How do I look out there, doctor?"

"You were starting to get annoyed, I could see that on your face," he commented, "To be fair, with the gesturing and constant cut-offs, I would be, too."

Phan frowned. "I was hoping I wouldn't come off as so obvious. I must work on that." She took a hard bite of it, sending crumbs falling onto her plate.

McCoy sipped from his cup, his eyes not leaving hers. Lowering it, he asked, "What's wrong? This isn't your first diplomatic mission."

"This is, however, the first where I'm filling the position of the deceased," she answered firmly, "Would it be the same to you, doctor, if you filled the position of a deceased surgeon in the middle of an operation?"

"I've done that," he replied simply, "It's not easy, but what remains important each time is the patient's life, above all else."

After taking another bite, she placed the sweet bread back down. "I feel as if I'm standing in someone else's shoes. Nancy Hedford and I didn't work close together, but I admired her strength. She was more forceful in her opinions, and that allowed her to stand against others. I have my own strength, but it is different. The queens must readjust to it." McCoy raised his eyebrow. "However," Phan added, "They will have to do so, if they wish to prevent a war. The queens aren't stupid. I just grow tired of the saber rattling."

"it doesn't sound so far removed from Earth politics," McCoy commented, placing his fingers to the side of his head in annoyance, "The politicians don't care as much when it isn't them who are personally involved in the fighting."

"That is your issue," Phan pointed out, catching him off-guard. "Remember, the queens here have given birth to multiple clutches. Their children, and their descendants, have formed most of their population."

McCoy went sideways on the subject. "They view their children differently from how humans do."

Phan nodded her head. "May I ask you a few questions, doctor?"

"Go ahead," he replied, blowing on his coffee.

"Why do you focus upon humanity?"

His blue eyes flicked up at her. "Humanity is interesting. We're capable of great constructive and destructive power. We've advanced far over thousands of years but have also slipped backwards multiple times. We've also come very close to ending ourselves, but here you and I are now, on an alien world."

Phan's eyes darted about in thought. "And do you think that humans are inherently good?" She asked.

"I do," he replied.

"Can you say the same of others?"

"I'd like to think so, yes," he shrugged, "Although I'm probably being offensive when I say that, as other species can't really be judged by our standards. Some are corporeal, and some are not. Our cultures also differ widely."

"But why do you judge them?" Phan asked, taking another bite, and polishing off the first cake.

"Partially out of the human instinct to do so that simply won't die, no matter how far away from the cave we move. The other is to keep myself grounded," McCoy explained, waving his hand for emphasis, "Considering how far from Earth I usually am, it helps me to remember where I've come from, as well as the other worlds I've been to. I base much of my values upon personal experience."

"And is that a good thing to do?" She questioned, wiping her hands on her napkin before reaching for another cake.

"It's all I have to cling to." He smiled. "Dear lady, are you trying to make me admit I'm wrong?"

Phan shrugged. "Not quite. I just thought that if we would be seeing much of each other, it's better I got to know you." She glanced about. "How do you judge these beings around us?"

"If you're coming to me for solace, I recommend you evaluate yourself," he remarked. At Phan's cross expression, he observed, "No, I didn't think you were, otherwise I'd be concerned that the Federation isn't training its diplomats well."

Phan pushed the strands of hair behind her ears. "Yes and no. You can share similar stories to mine, doctor, as there is no way to truly be prepared for the frontier. I should expect anything, then, and remain neutral. This is a test."

"Do you think you've passed?" McCoy prodded.

"It's merely the first round," she replied, putting down the cake and placing the tips of her fingers together, her voice dropping in volume, "They are playing games now, all four of them. It's something else held in common with human politics." Anger sparked in her eyes. "But then, that is what I will refuse to give them: the satisfaction of a win, or the dissatisfaction of a loss. I will take the middle ground."

"You've come back around to your profession, then," he commented.

She shrugged with a small smile. "It suddenly all becomes simple again. So, if I understand, then, when you keep hold of yourself, it makes the answers easier to find? You will not 'float away,' as it were, into the vastness of space?"

McCoy folded his arms. "No, not easier to find," he shrugged, "Heaven only knows the answers that will always elude me. It makes it easier for me to cope with that."

"I see," Phan raised the carafe, and poured more of the hot beverage into his cup, "Such as the being that now possesses my predecessor?"

"The Companion is a being that we may never fully understand. She wishes to be alone with Zephram Cochrane, and that's fine. We must respect her sentient right. However, what I find interesting is the fact that she suffered from the same thing her mate did, and many of us do: loneliness."

He'd defended the Companion on that point against Cochrane's hurtful comments. On the same day, however, McCoy also got to watch the same being torture his captain and his commander. He preferred for her to be left alone with him.

Spock's hand had been warm on the side of his face, after the mission debriefing. McCoy, leaning up against his desk in his quarters, had felt the guilt of not being able to save Miss Hedford. His anguish had rippled through the touch of skin to the Vulcan, who said nothing. However, there was something that was felt, emanating from him, a softness from a sense of understanding.

McCoy had glanced up, and seen those dark eyes regarding him with sympathy, and a certain tenderness that he could not place for a moment, until he heard an echo. Spock was playing back for him the memory of McCoy exclaiming to Cochrane that a relationship with the Companion wasn't inherently wrong, rather it took getting used to. McCoy watched as Spock lowered his hand to his psi-points, and closed his eyes, relaxing against the desk. He could feel his heart beating against Spock's chest, and had a fleeting thought as to how odd it must feel to the Vulcan.

He came slowly back into himself and felt Spock's hand on the back of his head, steadying it. McCoy rubbed at his eyes. "I'm tired." Spock kissed the top of his head, and McCoy blearily raised it at him. "Darling, I…"

"No." Spock brought his arms about him and held him steady. "Not like this."

McCoy's hand found his back and grasped the fabric tightly. "I can't lose you."

"You have not," he replied, "The Companion allowed the captain and me to live." He drew back. "It is not logical, to allow our relationship's movement to be dictated by our hardships." As he felt McCoy's annoyance rising, Spock explained, "I wish for you to rebuild your trust in me."

"You don't seem to trust me," McCoy muttered bitterly.

"If I did not, I would not have you caring for my health," he corrected.

"What do you want, Spock?"

"A courtship," he replied.

McCoy smiled. "That's fine, my belle."

"I'm sorry?" Spock asked, not understanding.

"Nothing. Now, let me up. My back's killing me."

Phan's words broke through McCoy's thoughts.

"It's time." She rose, abandoning the remaining cakes. Draining his cup, McCoy rose with her, and kept by her side as they passed the heavy rifles the guards carried.

XXXXXX

The general from before still pontificated on the platform, though Kirk noticed that his crowd had dwindled somewhat. "Mr. Chekov?"

"Yes, sir."

"Guard the perimeter for me. If the authorities press upon the area, signal me."

"Aye, sir," Chekov affirmed, and Kirk quickly shouldered through the crowd. The ensign backpedaled to the edge of the area and glanced about once. Passerby continued by, though there were more police in the area. Not good, he thought, as he turned his head back.

Chekov watched Kirk ascend the platform, and felt his heart do a backflip. Exclamations of dismay rose from the crowd and the government figures while Kirk saluted the general, who introduced himself as Lon. Kirk held out a held to shake, offering a debate. Grasping it, and shaking it firmly, Lon agreed, clearly enjoying his opportunity to showboat before the crowd.

Turning away and glancing over to see two police officers talking and gesturing toward the gathering, Chekov took a breath, and steeled himself. He recallied Sulu's lesson to him about fear, during one of their sparring sessions on the Enterprise.

Sulu, his chest bare, and wearing a pair of black pants, paced before Chekov, who was similarly clothed in the sparring ring. A thin sheen of sweat covered both, and they were aware of each other's musky scent. Around them, the background sounds of other crew members working out echoed. The heat in the room felt heavy on them.

Chekov traced his partner's movements as he said, "Fear in combat isn't a weakness, it merely is."

"Mr. Spock considers emotions a weakness," Chekov replied, sidestepping toward him. Sulu contrasted his motion, the two stepping about each other as if in a dance.

"Correct, but you must remember, he is half-Vulcan." Sulu aimed a jab at Chekov, which the ensign barely blocked in time, seizing his hand. Leaning his head forward, a lock of the lieutenant's hair fell over his forehead. "You are not." Sulu tugged his hand out of Chekov's grasp. He allowed the motion to counterbalance himself, placing distance between them again.

"So, in that case, what do you know of fear?" Chekov asked.

"It's part of the occupation. You should know that as a navigator."

Sulu ducked out of the way as Chekov aimed a kick at his head. Spinning about, he grabbed for the back of Chekov's knee. Correcting himself, Chekov quickly brought his leg down, the weight causing Sulu's knees to buckle slightly. With a grunt, he drove his elbow toward the pilot. Sulu swung out of the way, and drove his weight forward, pinning Chekov under him.

Chekov slowly caught his breath as he felt his partner's chest, slick with sweat, heaving against his, his dark eyes boring into him. In annoyance, Sulu muttered, "I have told you a thousand times, Pavel: don't telegraph your attacks."

Chekov bit his lip in irritation. "Perhaps it is because you know me too well."

The pilot shrugged and got off him to stand. "You can choose another sparring partner, if you want."

"I like you too much," Chekov replied with a tilt of his head.

"Wrong answer," Sulu's playful expression was the only warning Chekov would get. Surging toward him, Sulu swung for Chekov's chest. Chekov blocked it and glanced up to see a fist streaking through the air toward him. Unable to react quickly enough, he took the sucker punch to the jaw, and crashed to the floor. He groaned, attempting to find his bearings.

A hand extended toward him, and Chekov, moving his hand over his jaw, gratefully took it. Helping him to stand, Hikaru gently laid his hand over Pavel's. "May I have a look?" Chekov lowered his hand, and the pilot gently ran his hand over the unaffected skin nearby. "I'm sorry, it looks like I left a bruise," he commented quietly, the previous aggression draining out of him.

Chekov shrugged. "Consider us even from last time. How's your back?"

Sulu smirked, knowing quite well that Chekov had kicked in him the kidney. He turned about, showing himself off before him. "How does it look?"

"Oh, cute, Hikaru," Chekov replied, as it was bare due to the dermal regenerator.

Turning back around, Sulu asked, "Should we continue the lesson?"

Chekov shook his head and groaned as he brought his hand up to the bruise. "No, I think that is enough for one day. I'll fix myself up."

Nodding, Hikaru moved the mats away, Pavel assisting him. Rising, they headed over to the towel dispensary. Sulu wiped his face on his towel and slung it over a shoulder. "Come on, I've got an hour 'til I go on duty."

Chekov smiled. "Shower, then?"

Sulu gave a knowing smile. "Among other things."

Chekov took the lesson into account as he watched the police officers advance toward him, the gray shoulder pads of their uniforms sticking out. It looked a little funny. Stepping forward, he greeted them, "Hello, officers."

"Off-worlder," one acknowledged, glancing past him, "Why is Captain Kirk on the platform?"

Chekov shrugged. "It's just a healthy debate."

"Debate?" The other officer asked in annoyance. "This is not his affair."

"But it's a public forum, yes?" Chekov inquired, beginning to pick up speed. If there was one thing he did recall about his homeland, it was bureaucracy. "Then it is not trespassing. The crowd can respond to the general, and the captain is not harming him."

"You have an odd definition of public forum, off-worlder," the first officer interjected.

"It's in a public square," Chekov replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another officer coming over, and resisted the urge to groan.

Back on the platform, Lon was growing more irritated. Slapping the podium he stood beside, he exclaimed, "You named our planet a different word from what we call it!"

"As has occurred with Vulcan, but it's not meant to be offensive. It's how our star charts work. For example, many extraterrestrials refer to Earth as Terra, but that's not the only name I've heard," Kirk replied soothingly.

"Be that as it may, it still carries the scent of imperialism. We do not wish to fully assimilate to Federation culture!"

Kirk raised a finger. "Ah, but we don't have a monolithic culture. The Federation is comprised of many different cultures working in conjunction with each other."

Lon waved an arm. "Regardless, you think that you can dictate the laws of other worlds! That's offensive!" The government officials nodded at that.

"You are a client state to us. To be considered such, you must adhere to our laws. If you don't wish to do so, that's fine. You can join other jurisdictions, if you wish."

"But the Federation would not like that," Lon replied, tiling his head back, "Would it, Captain Kirk?"

Kirk felt as if the tone of the conversation had changed. "Excuse me?" He inquired.

"We have heard of your Organian Treaty, as well as its causes. It would seem as if you are rather gung-ho, yourself."

Kirk turned to address the crowd of Norsicans and met suspicious glances. "It was my error in judgment, however I have taken responsibility for it."

"That is moot," he replied, "You are representing the Federation. You must conduct yourself accordingly."

"You are representing your world today," Kirk replied, "What do I, as a citizen of the Federation think of it, in its state of martial law?"

Silence fell over the Norsicans, but Lon replied, "You have chosen to do business with us, captain. You must take that into account."

A moment caught Kirk's eye. He glanced over at Chekov's waving hand and saw beyond him the advancing line of policemen. Directly in front of the ensign were about four, who, by their bodily movements, were growing more and more irritated. Swinging his head about, he gave a quick smile at Lon. "And that's all the time I have today. Duty calls. You understand, General."

Lon stood, dumbstruck, and the crowd collectively blinked as Kirk bounced off the platform to run off. It was only the government representatives who called after the authorities to stop him. Kirk slid into a nearby alley, grunting in pain as his shoulders scraped against the narrow walls. He hopped over a rear iron fence, only to nearly crash into a table. It was a restaurant under an awning, with the waiters, waitresses, and patrons looking up in shock. He quickly excused himself, and ran through, hopping over the other side fence, and continuing into a narrow courtyard. He stopped and leaned one hand against a statue of a female Norsican bearing a jug of water over one shoulder. Glancing down, he caught his breath.

Aware of eyes on him, he looked up to see two Andorians seated on a bench staring at him, their antenna trained forward in curiosity. Kirk held up a hand in breathless greeting. "Afternoon!"

The two of them glanced at each other and shrugged before continuing with a heated debate over what sounded like taking on an assignment to Mars. One of the Andorians heavily disliked the heat, and Kirk couldn't help but smile at the comment. The smile became strained, however, as his shoulders stung. Moving his hands off the statue, he stroked along them, finding that his robe and part of the uniform shirt underneath had torn. Blood spotted his skin and part of the fabric.

Rain continued to fall as he moved away from the statue, and further into the courtyard, where a fountain pooled. Flipping open his communicator, he inquired, "Kirk to Chekov, you all right?"

"Chekov here, sir," the ensign greeted quietly after a few moments' pause, "I am fine. The police have since moved on."

"They aren't detaining you?" Kirk asked in a concerned tone of voice.

"No, sir. After the first four chased after you, the general lost control of the crowd. Actually," he chuckled, "the four got stuck because of those broad shoulder pads. I managed to slip away in the confusion before the other officers arrived." Dropping his voice, he added, "I was not expecting them to employ their riot shields to hem them in. The crowd was unarmed."

Kirk swallowed his guilt at that, as he had caused the racket. Choosing to take on a more positive subject, he inquired, "Where're you hiding?"

"The local library, or at least, outside of it. It's not worth going inside if they don't have the Russian classics. I'm sitting on the stairs under the main columns."

Kirk smiled. The Andorians got up to leave, and he decided, "Stay where you are, Mr. Chekov. I'll meet you there."

"Aye, sir." Putting away the communicator, Chekov leaned against the pole, and closed his eyes. He supposed he could take rest when he could get it.

XXXXXX

Uhura glanced quietly about. Vibrations, count the vibrations. She breathed softly and closed her eyes. Minimize all background noise, count the sounds.

Footsteps thumped distantly over the gravel. Water ran in the gutters above her, sloshing. Spock knelt just before her, his phaser out as he cut at the padlock on a metal door. He had previously shut off the speaker on his respirator, leaving him mute. The door was rusted, and old, with trash piled nearby. The lock dropped to the ground, and Spock leaned his shoulder into the door, pushing on it carefully until it slid across the gravel. He slipped through, gesturing for her to follow.

The slightly open door cast a slit of light on the floor. Uhura glanced about as Spock deftly pulled the door shut. The factory was old and appeared to make mannequins or dolls in its day, with half-finished Norsican forms still sitting on the lines. Uhura cast only a quick glance over them, as many were without eyes or limbs. The second floor supported several catwalks, from which hung chains and hooks. Above that on the rafters were ventilation systems. Crouching low, she followed him behind a covered, open-topped bin, with a fake arm grotesquely trailing out of it. A guard's footsteps thumped by in the distance.

Tapping the screen of her tricorder, she indicated by frequency that the signal was coming from the ventilation area. Comparing it against the factory's floor plan, Spock glanced about until he registered a service stairwell. The door to it in his sight, naturally, was barred shut. Along the sides, however, were service ladders from the ground floor, some of which led to the second floor. Metal stairwells led to the floor above.

Uhura stuck her head around as far as it could go as they waited, her eyes widening as she realized that the guard was wearing a military uniform that was under Meylu's banner, its patch a dark green slashed diagonally with light blue. A tug on her arm from Spock drew her attention, and she followed him.

The first ladder was difficult, its greased surface forcing them to use the sleeves and edges of their robes as handholds. The second was more stable, but easier to be spotted on due to the catwalks. Crouching low, they took turns before scrambling up. In the narrow crawlspace above, Uhura guided Spock along the low ceiling until they came to an area blocked by a fan.

Uhura pointed her phaser at the fan, and, on a low frequency, fired. The heat caught the fan, and its metal slowly melted, welding into space. She was forced to pause her work a few times as the voices abruptly stopped. She slipped out of the way, and allowed Spock to fire on it at a low temperature, cooling the metal. The Vulcan crept ahead of her past the fan into the tube, and she followed him into a small "hub" area between the openings of three other fans that hummed quietly to themselves. Standing within it was a medium-sized metal cylinder, stainless steel with red lights blinking. A panel was shut on one side, striped diagonally in yellow and black. Letters stood on it, with a red dissected triangle hovering over it. Running her tricorder over it, Uhura nodded, holding it out to Spock. It was a weapons developer, subsidized by Yi's government to produce equipment for her army.

He knelt before it and began to set to work. Turning away, she slipped over to guard the exit. Uhura tugged open her robe drop on the floor. Grasping the fabric of her uniform skirt, she tugged down on it to keep it from bunching as she sidled forward on her knees.

The movements of Spock's fingers were deft as he carefully moved over the device, pausing to scan at it with the tricorder. Nodding at his result, Spock reprogrammed in a hacking algorithm to the device. The algorithm itself was designed by Lieutenants Loxley and Xiao under his division, and frankly, was more effective for the basic hacking of opening utility-based computers or doors. Spock had planned upon using the algorithm as a base before moving on to a higher system, however this seemed to be sufficient, the panel flipping open. Red glowed from the device on his fac, and he placed the mask back on as a shield. If he was damaged, McCoy wouldn't be able to help him, and a beam up might not be quick enough. It begged the question why beaming to sickbay wasn't considered in the engineering future projects. He considered talking with Mr. Scott about that later.

Uhura's eyes moved and forth from where she was crouched. The metal of her phaser felt cool against her side. Footsteps thumped over the floor at intervals, and quiet conversation filtered up to her. The contingent appeared to be of six people on the interior, with three patrolling the main floor, and three on the catwalks. They moved about in a gridded format, with more voices filtering through the piping in the washing and rec areas. Something banged at intervals, and exclamations of annoyance indicated to her that it was probably some sort of game.

She felt slightly handicapped without her headphone but chided herself. It was nothing. She hadn't had sophisticated equipment back home, when she had listened to the animals crying in the distance at night during family trips to the Serengeti. Ambient clangs and bangs sounded here and there, and air moaned through the pipes.

A slight rustle caught her attention, and she glanced at Spock. He held a cylinder before himself, and she nodded. Grasping her cloak, she tugged it back on, and led him out. Descending the ladders quickly, they crept past a set of crates bearing pieces of skeletons toward the door. Spock nudged it open again and they slipped away. Straightening up, they walked out, pretending nonchalance over the next few streets.

Reaching back, Spock reactivated the speaker in his respiration device. "We will need to turn this over to the proper authorities. Likely, they will desire to know." He proffered the transmitter, and Uhura took it to hide in her robes. Pulling out his tricorder, he quietly logged the data he had gathered.

Uhura smiled. "Do you think the line will be long in the waiting room at the city station?"

"It is the legal system," Spock noted, and Uhura's smile broadened at that as they continued down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic has taken a bit longer than I thought. It's a bit difficult to split off into three different points of view, but I plan on making them run back into each other in the next chapter. The factory scene was the most difficult to write. Also, I apologize if I use similar recreational settings. And yes, the Norsicans are not meant to be very likable.


	4. Chapter 4

For the moment, Uhura wasn't sure if they were going to spend a night in prison. Regardless, Spock's face betrayed nothing, and she resolved not to do so, either. She'd seen worse, herself, in the alternate universe. This man who sat before them? He was nothing.

The police chief of Evarra, known as Orca, was the tallest she had seen of the local stock of Norscians, and bulkier, with lines on his skin betraying his age. "It has come to my attention that you two have made a discovery," he began quietly.

Uhura glanced at Spock, who nodded. "Yes, sir, that is correct." Uhura produced the air-tight cylinder and placed it upon his desk. A fan chopped at the humid air.

"What is it?" He asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"What remains of a transmitter," Uhura explained, "Commander Spock and I were able to locate it on the outskirts of the market district. Hidden in plain sight, I would say. You will see that it's of local design."

"Is there any further information?" He picked up the object. "Perhaps a lead on who may be responsible?"

"The residue is found on weaponry, which is typical of the local military," Spock explained, "it is the same vaporization power as is found in a rifle carried by an infantryman in Queen Meylu's army."

"That could be anyone, then. I appreciate the gesture, however, this must remain in the hands of the city police, now."

"If I may offer a counterpoint," Spock replied, "That transmitter involved the setting where our ship's physician and a civilian passenger, currently are. Both fall under my jurisdiction."

"Be that as it may," Orca replied slowly, "You are still on our soil, and your captain's act of causing a stir earlier has not done you any favors."

Spock folded his hands. "The captain acted within his right to voice his opinion, nothing more. His oration merely was entertainment for the crowd."

Uhura barely caught herself from smirking.

"Semantics. He has disturbed the peace while we are on the brink of war." Lifting a hand, he added, "It would be in our best interests if you left."

"Dr. McCoy hasn't yet contacted us," Uhura pointed out.

Orca glanced between each of them. "I trust each of you will continue to respect our laws while here?"

"We will," Spock replied, glancing over at Uhura. "Lieutenant?"

"Absolutely," she added, "We wouldn't want to cause you any more trouble."

"Good. Well then, I don't think I need to teach you two how to use the door," Orca commented dismissively, bending back down to his paperwork.

Spock raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing, quietly gesturing to Uhura. It wasn't until they were away from the front steps of the station that Uhura commented, "I find his flippancy odd. You would think that he just wants to see an end to all of this."

"He seeks a temporary answer. Anything further would strain the resources of the city police at this time. However, the problem will continue." Maneuvering into an alley, he rested against a side wall, and bent his head down to allow his hood to shadow his face.

Uhura pulled out her tricorder and inspected the screen. "I doubt that's the last of them. We'll have to continue our search this week."

As Spock nodded his head, his communicator went off. Reaching back into the folds of his robe, he pulled out the device. "Spock, here."

"Spock, it's good to hear your voice," Kirk greeted, "What's the verdict?"

"We are not being detained, captain, however the city police are aware of our intentions. Likely, they will attempt to bar our efforts to remove any active devices. We will need to devise a counter measure, if we wish to pursue this."

"You don't have faith in the city police?" Kirk inquired, a note of humor in his voice.

Spock, however, kept the conversation on a strictly tactical basis. "I do not. My impression of Orca, the police chief, remains thus, that he is more concerned with throwing his weight around. Another impression I have is that the police are currently focusing more upon crowd control during this time. It is thinning their resources."

"And the militaries' influence on things isn't making it any easier," Kirk surmised.

"Correct, sir. Has the stir since died down?"

With a slight chuckle, Kirk replied, "I don't think I'll be much remembered past the initial news report. Fair off to say that I've made us seem like public nuisances."

"That may be what is needed, in this situation," Spock commented, raising his eyes to meet Uhura's gaze, "If I am able to return to the ship, I will be able to fashion a tracker based upon the frequency the Lieutenant had captured."

"You have three hours before the meeting ends," Kirk replied, "Will you be able to have the device completed within that time frame?"

"It is a typical tracking device, captain. If we hurry, we will have it done," Spock replied.

"Good, get on it, then. I'll find a way to stall if you need more time. Kirk out."

Uhura flipped open her communicator as Spock shut his. "Enterprise, this is Lieutenant Uhura."

"Scott here. Uhura, go ahead."

"Commander Spock and I need to return to the ship. We must construct an item to assist the landing party."

"Understood."

"Two to beam up," she commanded, "Energize."

The alley disappeared to be replaced by the transporter room. Spock was already climbing off the pad, his one hand coming up to lower his oxygen mask. Lowering her hood, Uhura followed him.

Spock dropped his hood as she caught up with him in the turbo lift. "Once we arrive on the bridge, Lieutenant, I will need you to run your transmission through my station. We will create our tracker from there. It should only take a matter of two hours."

The lift doors opened to Scott's voice, and Spock quietly commanded, "Against the wall." They moved away from the doors, flattening themselves against the side walls.

"I assure you, we are not blocking your commerce," Scott's voice was tinged with a slight sense of tiredness, "We merely are electing to stay out of the way."

"Be that as it may," a voice, its electronic tinge indicating it was coming from the overhead viewer, replied, "You nevertheless have refused to dock. It appears to be suspicious, as other off-worlders have."

"We are merely choosing to stay out of this conflict, as our diplomat is neutral," Scott assured.

"Your ship is armed with weapons."

"As is yours, good sir," Scott replied, "Nevertheless, we trust you not to fire upon us."

"Your captain is being rather aggressive, as of late, on our planet's surface. He is responsible for you, engineer."

Uhura's eyes met Spock's, but neither moved.

"Ah yes, thank you for mentioning my station," Scott replied, "My main concern is for the ship, itself, as opposed to political concerns."

"You would do anything for your ship, then, even if means killing others," the voice replied.

"Kindly do not jump down my throat," Scott corrected, "No, my concern, then, would be for us to avoid conflict, as entering into it will bring us all on board into danger."

"Nevertheless, we have every right to be concerned," the voice replied, "We will use that accordingly."

"And you may," Scott replied, "Is there anything else I may address for you today?"

"Not at this moment. Tetrin out."

Spock led the way out of the elevator, sweeping toward his station. "Ah, there you are, Commander," Scott noted, turning slightly in his chair, "Lieutenant."

"I assume that is not your first conversation of this type, Mr. Scott?" Spock inquired, propping himself on his arms over his science station, and glancing down into his scanner. He scooted over slightly to allow room for Uhura.

"No, sir, they have been periodically checking on in us," Scott answered, "It is likely they're trying to become used to us, though we're not the only ship that has chosen to orbit. Mr. Sulu, who is currently nearby?"

"The Vulcan science vessel V'lu and the Tellarite trading vessel Xigogm. The latter seems to be leaving soon," Sulu glanced down at his board, "It's possible that a scan of our vessel will be attempted again. Should we shield ourselves this time, considering who is aboard?"

"Move us toward the other two ships, then raise shields. As quickly as you can at typical speed," Scott replied.

"Aye, sir."

Uhura pointed at the readout of the transmission on the board, and Spock nodded.

Sulu's eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute…." Glancing over at Hadley, who manned Chekov's station in his absence, he ordered, "Lieutenant, check this area for me." He listed off the coordinates as he carefully steered the controlling yoke.

"Aye." Hadley's eyebrows slowly raised. "It appears to be a patrol drone."

Sulu held his jaw in frustration. "Has it scanned us?"

"It appears to be in the process of doing so."

Sulu turned slightly in his chair to look at Scott. "A Norsican drone ship is scanning us. If I change direction toward it, it will abort the program."

Scott nodded, glancing back over at Uhura. "Lieutenant, might I borrow ye for a moment?"

She rose from the panel and slid into her chair. "Sure."

"Begin jamming frequencies."

Spock glanced over. "If you do so, Mr. Scott, it will prompt another inquiry."

Scott merely smiled, understanding Spock's meaning. Spock lowered his head back to his scanner and said nothing else.

XXXXXX

Two hooded figures moved down the stairs, with guards flanking them. Kirk and the others moved forward to receive them. The guards parted before them, with the taller figure holding out an arm. The smaller figure moved forward.

From under her hood, Phan raised her dark eyes at them from the PADD she was holding. "We are far from our last meeting, but I've been accepted."

McCoy's eyes roved over to Spock, and he moved toward him. Grasping inside of his bag, he pulled out his medical scanner to move over him. "I am quite well, doctor, thank you," Spock gently brushed.

"Could've fooled me," he replied in annoyance, "Your breathing patterns are irregular. What did I tell you earlier?"

Kirk smirked at that, but it fell as he glanced up to see two rather well-built female Norsicans, Ziza and Noreen, moving down the stairs. Noreen spared Phan and McCoy a glance before turning away to head off. Meylu descended slowly to them. "As you will be required further, Miss Phan, for the remainder of this debate, your quarters have been secured. We will pay the expenses for you." Meylu glanced over at the assembled crew. "You may also stay the night, in honor of your service today. However, barring the doctor, I must ask for you to leave. Captain, you seem to only cause a stir with your showboating."

"With all due respect, that cannot be done," Kirk replied, "You are asking to have my chief medical officer. I cannot leave without him indefinitely."

Meylu glanced over at McCoy. "Surely, doctor, a week would not bother you?"

McCoy said nothing, and merely glanced over at Spock and Kirk in deferment. Spock spoke first. "The doctor's rights fall within our jurisdiction, not yours. If I give the command for him to leave, it must be followed."

"And Miss Phan? You will leave her unprotected?" Meylu asked.

"No, not at all," Kirk replied, "We're under orders from Starfleet to protect her, for as long as these proceedings are underway. That means we must remain within the orbit of this planet."

"For what reason?" Meylu inquired, narrowing her eyes.

"Another diplomat's loss cannot be afforded at this time," Spock replied simply.

"You are hovering. This is interference," Meylu's voice was beginning to become gritty from pure annoyance.

"That is our protection of a Federation citizen, as mandated by Starfleet," Kirk said, "If you want our diplomat, you'll have to also obey our rules."

Meylu looked ready to make an unsavory accusation but remembered herself. "Then it would be advisable to us to not ask for Federation assistance again in the future. You may stay tonight, captain, but you and your crew may not stay another. Miss Phan will have to take her nights upon your ship."

Phan nodded her head. "That is acceptable."

Meylu gestured to the entourage of guards about her, who followed her back into the building.

XXXXXX

The inn provided for the away team was non-descript, and close to the spaceport. Rain splattered the windows, while the humming of spacefaring engines sounded past. Lights from departing and landing ships glowed in the distance.

Kirk found it odd how the concierge had bowed to the away team, as opposed to giving the same greeting the queens had. However, when McCoy mentioned to him that he and Phan had been greeted in a similar manner before being fed, the captain figured it was a way of showing respect in an intergalactic manner.

The rooms were populated by majority off-worlders, with natives barely seen outside of service workers. Combined with the fact that the hallways seemed scrubbed white, it appeared to be too clean, and contained. Sound appeared to bounce off throughout the wide hallways. The rooms adjoined each other, with each pair assigned two.

Shuffling them accordingly was a short task, with the only concern being of who should be grouped with Phan. Considering the request of the queens, regarding the diplomat's health, he placed McCoy in Phan's adjoining room, though this did earn a confused reaction from the concierge, who blinked, and glanced over the diplomat and the doctor. "Oh, I see." Flustered, she glanced back down at her desk. McCoy smirked at that, and Phan concealed her chuckle with a hand. Considering Chekov's previous unease around him, Kirk allowed the ensign to bunk with Uhura. The concierge quietly cleared her throat before handing over the room keys and allowing them to leave.

Gathered in Phan's room, the away team deliberated the evening's movements. Emulating her status as focal point, the diplomat sat upon her bed, which was placed in the center of the room.

Phan put a hand to her head. "I'd rather rest. I need to plan for tomorrow."

Kirk shook his head. "I'd rather you not spend it on the surface of this planet, Miss Phan."

"Why not?" She inquired.

Spock, his mask now removed, pulled the tricorder holding his and Uhura's findings from his robes, and explained, "Lieutenant Uhura and I discovered a transmitter that was receiving broadcasts from within the legislative building."

"Meaning someone is trying to listen on, if not tamper with, the negotiations. We'll remain here for the night, but at dawn, we'll return to the Enterprise. We can't afford to take chances," Kirk surmised.

Phan stole a glance at the window behind her. "All right, I'll set my chronometer's alarm early. Lieutenant, may I request your assistance?"

"Certainly."

McCoy glanced over at Spock. "Commander, I formally request for you to submit yourself for a medical examination."

"Very well, doctor. Preferably, if it would be done away from here."

"By all means." McCoy replied, following Spock out of the room.

Kirk turned to Chekov. "Mr. Chekov, you're free for a short time. Report back at 2300 hours."

Chekov nodded with a grin. "Yes, sir, thank you." Turning to look at Uhura and Phan, he respectfully nodded to each before departing. "Lieutenant, Miss Phan."

"0500 hours tomorrow, we'll meet in the hall before beaming up," Kirk decided. They each nodded, and he concluded, "Enjoy your night, ladies."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, captain."

Considering how he had cast himself in a spotlight, Kirk figured it was probably better to stay close to the spaceport. He was finding, however, that he looked forward to being away from the world, and not simply because the Enterprise was not allowed to leave.

An Andorian ship blazed through the night sky as it left the surface of the planet. It was beautiful, the tail lights leaving a glare behind them.

Kirk's communicator whistled, and he flipped it open. "Kirk, here."

"Scott here, sir. We've received a transmission for you."

Kirk glanced up and headed toward a bench under an overhang. A gutter hummed alongside it. "Is it urgent?"

"It's marked 'priority,' sir. Should I transmit it to your position?"

"Go ahead. Encrypt it, first."

Kirk's communicator hummed, and he took out his tricorder to copy it over. "Thanks, Scotty."

"We'll be here in case ye need us, sir."

"Just don't fall asleep up there," Kirk joked.

"No, sir, we have enough friends to keep us company," he replied with a chuckle, "Scott out."

Kirk carefully worked through the encryption, and at last unlocked the file, its bluish glow casting an ominous light over his robe. The file drew up an image of the planet where he and McCoy had encountered Keema, the now-deceased captain of the Iklosian plague ship. The planet was now dubbed Osiris, and the file detailed the computer found beneath the surface by Spock's team.

A research team from the Federation ship USS Knight were investigating it, their findings, thus far, being sparse. The machine was intricate and huge, being geared toward not only technorganic sustainability, as had been previously thought, but also toward gathering organic brainwaves.

Kirk's heart sank. That left the subjects who were strapped into the machine as batteries, of a sort. What would have been the purpose of gathering them, base research? That made little sense, as they wouldn't have enough stimuli to react to without going mad. More information was needed, but nonetheless, it made his skin crawl as he went over the data.

A secondary report, indicating the discovery of another Iklosian plague ship, caught his attention, and he flipped to it. This one had been adrift in space, the captain, a male, having been found with his brains splattered over his desk, and the crew and passengers on board diseased.

How the Iklosian empress could tolerate this was beyond him, nevertheless it did remind him of the queens of this current world, which give him a bitter taste in his mouth as he continued to peruse the report.

XXXXXX

Spock's respiration mask hung from a hook in the room's small adjoining bathroom, the door slightly open. Had it been someone else other than McCoy, he would have closed it. For now, however, he relaxed, shirtless and sitting straight up on the edge of his bed as the medical scanner hummed, carefully restoring his breathing patterns to normal.

"Clean," McCoy scowled at Spock as he put the medical scanner away, "Don't ever pull that trick again."

Reaching for his undershirt, Spock commented, "Over the past half year, you seem to have been concerned with telling me what I cannot do."

"I'm your doctor. Maybe you should consider that fact," he replied out of annoyance. Switching his tone, however, he continued, "I advise for you to rest early, regardless."

"As I would recommend for you to do the same," Spock replied, "We will be watching the building."

"Can I ask for a favor?" McCoy inquired.

Spock raised an eyebrow, indicating for him to go on.

"If you can, bring me any data on Ziza or Noreen's descendants. I want to help them."

Spock nodded. "I will, if I can."

"Thanks. I'd better get back to being busy doing nothing," McCoy replied, his sarcasm indicating his annoyance with the situation.

"I would advise against seeing the situation in such a way, otherwise if would not bode well for your opinion of our diplomat," Spock commented.

"Like I would," McCoy grumbled, glancing away from him. With a sigh, he gathered himself. Rain poured on the window behind his companion. Damn this planet. He hated seeing Spock having to wear that thing on his face. In a way, Spock seemed delicate to him now. He did wish to lay with him and feel him and move and breathe against him.

The bed creaked as Spock rose.

It wasn't a good time, as they were still technically on duty. He figured he would sleep lightly tonight, as he would watching over Phan, nevertheless he would keep his communicator close to him.

Spock held his two fingers aloft. With a slight smile, McCoy brought his own to them in a good night kiss.

XXXXXX

"Chekov to Enterprise," Chekov said into his communicator.

"Sulu here, go ahead."

Chekov smiled. "I thought you were supposed to be sleeping, Hikaru?"

Sulu chuckled. "When have I ever let you down? How is it on the surface?"

"Interesting, to be sure," Chekov replied, moving through the crowds. His figure was dwarfed by the massive ships that were loading. Several Norsicans were boarding them, and he noticed that most were male. A female Norsican, her head down, was signing up to join Starfleet, while two other females, who walked by, taunted her for doing so. Chekov turned his head from them in irritation. A customs officer dragged another female Norsican, this one with a breathing apparatus, away, while another brandished a club threateningly at others in diving suits.

Swallowing, Chekov added to Sulu, "Though, honestly, it's not in a good way. I find it odd that the Federation can endorse such a world."

"I don't necessarily think that's the case," Sulu replied, "Remember, Epsilon Canaris III is in its infancy, still, in terms of warp drive. While we've established first contact with the world, and its trade is important, its social problems are still vast. We were once similar to them."

"So, we're guiding them?" Chekov asked.

"Trying to, I suppose."

"It doesn't seem right, though," he commented quietly, though not without looking around, hoping Captain Kirk wasn't around to hear that.

"Would the Klingons have been any different?" Hikaru asked.

"I suppose—" Chekov broke off at the sound of an angered argument. Turning, he saw a civilian freighter crew, comprised of a few humans, two Caitians, and a Horta, arguing with two police officers. They were forming a protective semi-circle abut a male Norsican clad in diving gear. One of the officers was rudely waving a sheaf of papers in the Norsican's face until a human male standing closest to him slapped the papers away and declared that the officer had no shame.

"Hikaru, stay on my frequency."

"Just be careful. I can hear some of it."

Chekov started forward, and came up to the two policemen, one of which was pointing at the male Norsican. "You'll not be leaving until we finish our investigation!"

"What's your problem?" One of the humans demanded, starting forward, "As captain of this vessel, I've stamped all of Enzo's papers and seen to them personally! We have to get this freight moving!"

"That's your issue, Mulyadi. As it stands, this mud-dweller will not be leaving until we are sure of his intentions."

"Intentions?!" Enzo exclaimed, losing his patience, "I'm going off-world, with no intention of coming back! That should be just fine for you!"

"Excuse me!" Chekov called out.

Turning, the two officers stared at him, and one of them groaned upon seeing the gold sleeve of Chekov's uniform, which was partially unconcealed due to his robe falling back over his wrist. "Oh great, another Federation polliwog. Can't you waste someone else's time?"

Chekov, in that moment, realized how, despite only being on the surface of Epsilon Canaris III for a day, the planet had thoroughly annoyed him. Recalling, however, Sulu's previous reprimand to him about telegraphing his attacks, he replied, "You seem to be doing that to this freight crew." Holding his other hand out to indicate he had no weapon in it, he stepped past the policemen. Chekov planted himself between the police and Enzo, his communicator still drawn. Enzo backed toward the human crew. Chekov did not feel so brave, nevertheless he figured he may as well put on a convincing show.

"Stand down, off-worlder," one of the police officers ordered.

Raising the communicator, he asked quietly, and hoped that Sulu could pick up on the act, "What if we were to beam Enzo up? His livelihood is being threatened."

"That is more a matter of when, not if, we would," Sulu replied evenly, and Chekov silently thanked his lover's resourcefulness.

"What could a single Norsican pose in importance to the Federation?" One of the guards asked.

"He is in trouble," Chekov replied. Enzo gave a thankful smile. "If you find him so insignificant, then why is my stepping in so important to you?"

The officers looked at each other before one replied, "Very well. Just get this mud baby off-world."

"Right away, sir," Captain Mulyadi replied quickly to defuse the situation. As the police officers walked off, the captain quickly ordering his crew to finish packing up.

"Good luck," Chekov wished Enzo.

Enzo nodded. "From here, I think, it will be easier. Thank you." At the captain's call, he rushed off.

Chekov quietly raised the still open communicator to his mouth and walked away. "Do you think it will be? He is going to have to adapt to being off-world."

"That's his judgment to make," Sulu replied.

"I suppose," Chekov answered quietly, "It's strange, wanting to leave where one has come from."

"You have," Sulu pointed out patiently.

"Yes, but I would like to go home. I don't think Enzo wants the same thing. It isn't anything new, these days, but it's nonetheless upsetting," he commented.

After a short pause, Sulu replied, "It makes you feel powerless, doesn't it?"

"A little," Chekov answered, grasping a metal beam, and swinging his legs around to avoid stepping on some strapped-down goods, "I helped Enzo, but I doesn't really matter, does it? Yes, it mattered to him, but there are still many more."

"Pavel," Sulu began carefully, "You're going to hate me for saying this, but you're just an ensign." Before Chekov could fire back on that point, Sulu continued, "You aren't forced to do great things, from where you are. Without thinking of the consequences, you reached out to help someone. This sort of thing takes time."

"But that's small comfort," Chekov ducked as someone yelled for him to get out of the way. A swinging beam barely missed the top of his hair.

"Do you have a plan to accomplish such a great thing?" He asked quietly.

Chekov sighed. "No."

"I'm not trying to beat on you, but I don't want you to take it out on yourself," Sulu explained gently, "You helped an innocent life. That is worth celebrating."

Chekov smiled. "Thanks, solnyshka. You know, since I'm here, I could probably see if I could pick up a weapon for your collection. You've been looking for a Caitian blade, yes?"

Sulu's smile was heard his voice. "I appreciate the gesture, but you don't have to. Just get back safe, dear."

Chekov smiled. "Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to catch flack for this, but nonetheless, I can't help but think that the Federation would have allies in less than perfect places, given that it needs what footholds it can take, at this point in time, being in conflict with the Klingons. Phan's sequence with Uhura will be in the next chapter. After the conclusion of the first day, I intend to move the remaining days along more quickly.
> 
> The USS Knight is my creation. The Russian term of endearment Chekov uses for Sulu means "sunshine."


	5. Chapter 5

"Am I allowed to ask what happened today?" Phan asked, her tone betraying a slight cutting note.

"You can, but I can only answer to a certain extent," Uhura replied, sitting down on the bed. The diplomat was turned away from her and staring out the window. In the distance, flares lit the sky, casting the room in shades of red and orange. Ziza and Noreen's fleets were saluting the return of their queens in the harbor.

Propping her hands on the windowsill, Phan leaned forward. "Is anyone outside monitoring me?"

"We don't know yet," Uhura answered.

Phan shook her head. "Regardless, it shouldn't be a concern for me. That isn't my job, here. Still," her fingers tapped the sill, "Nevertheless, it could be useful. Do we at least know who was responsible?"

"Turn around." Uhura pulled out her tricorder, and carefully typed in the command to display the data she and Spock had uncovered about the transmitter itself.

Phan turned and sat down upon the bed before her. Picking up the tricorder, she scanned over it. She grunted and tapped against the surface for emphasis on differing points. Her eyes moved up to meet Uhura's twice before handing the tricorder back over. "It shouldn't surprise me. Where will this lead, now?"

Taking it back, the communications officer replied, "We'll continue our investigation as needed. Now that the city police are on it, however, we'll be careful."

"It begs the question as to why they weren't more carefully monitoring the situation, unless…" She glanced up, "That was the point."

Uhura didn't answer her directly. "It wouldn't reflect very well upon Queen Yi if that was the case. This is her capital city."

"Nancy, what would you tell me?" Phan muttered, curling her finger against the side of her jaw in thought. Nodding, she dropped it. "Earlier, we spoke about the causes of this war. The queens are more in touch with their petty conflicts with each other than much else, over the table. And for each, it makes sense. Each has a parcel of land that must be clung to, Yi for the technological advances, Meylu for the abundance of agricultural and horticultural resources, Ziza for the industrialized areas along the coast, and Noreen for deep-sea mineral deposits and scientific anomalies. Frankly, part of why the Federation knows so little about Epsilon Canaris III's aquatic structure, despite most of the planet being covered by water, is due to the lack of proper communication with Noreen's people. They didn't have warp drive."

Uhura waved a hand to spur her on. "Don't forget that this is surface level knowledge, though. What conclusions do you draw from this picture?"

"Ziza and Noreen are more closely aligned due to Yi's society proving the greatest threat. Meylu, too, should be facing the issue of environmental damage, but she seems ambivalent." Pausing, Phan nodded her head. "And why shouldn't she be? Most of the problem is sinking into Ziza's territory, and Yi has had disdain for Ziza."

"Why is that?" Uhura challenged, "Back your accusation."

"Ziza's civilization links the land dwellers and the sea dwellers. They bear the weight of the industrial system. Without that labor force, Norsica's economy would screech to a halt," Phan snapped her fingers, "like that."

"And it's easier to just keep them in line," Uhura commented.

"Exactly. And, admittedly, Yi's doing the same with Meylu, just in a different way. She allows her to pamper and show herself off, thinking that she is on the same level as her." Phan tapped the screen. "This was a test. Meylu failed. Yi won't be as interested in her, now."

"Who would be her next object of interest, then?" Uhura inquired.

Phan handed back the tricorder to her. "Either Ziza or Noreen. Ziza has had bad blood with her for years, considering how Yi has mistreated her people in order to make it off-world, and initiate First Contact seventy-five years ago when a Norsican explorer shuttle was found adrift by an Andorian light cruiser." She shrugged. "It was only fitting, really, as several of the undercover first contact representatives were Andorian."

"Likely, that was a factor in your selection," Uhura commented.

Phan nodded her head. "As for Noreen, Yi might see her as young or unexperienced, easy to manipulate. Ziza isn't doing Noreen any favors by trying to be protective of her at the diplomatic table."

"Would she be better off on her own?"

"Who knows? The track record for deep-sea queens, as Dr. McCoy mentioned, isn't very long. Little is known about that society to begin with, and they rarely communicate with the Federation. They might also prefer it that way, given how most of our focus is on Yi's clan, which doesn't endear us to Noreen's. Ziza is a larger threat at this time to Yi due to the industrialized nature of her people, but, to be point blank, this wasn't the first time Yi crushed Ziza's people beneath the weight of the cities. Ziza's mother Lerix was an example of that."

Uhura grimaced. The former queen in question had died as the result of tar from her sinking flagship burning her skin. "That's immaterial, however. While I can't blame Ziza, if she's allowing herself to be drawn by her anger, it won't bode well for her people."

"Meaning I'll just have to clamp down harder upon the squabbling. I didn't handle the first day as well as I could have." Phan handed the tricorder back to Uhura. "I have to do better, otherwise we're going to get nowhere, fast. Even if I must reach across the table and knock heads together, it will be done. Nancy's dead, and I'm going to clean up the mess. As long as everyone else takes care of things topside."

"You seem to be more trusting of my captain, now," Uhura commented.

Phan gestured to the tricorder. "He helped to bring that to my attention, as did the rest of you. He has earned it."

XXXXXX

"You must be joking!" Yi's annoyed tone of voice sounded shrill, causing a few crewmembers on the bridge to wince, "We are on the verge of a war, and here you are, playing games with us!"

Kirk relaxed where he sat in his chair on the bridge. Spock was turned slightly around from where he sat at his science station, while Uhura watched with a hand to her ear. Phan stood back by the lift quietly, while McCoy leaned slightly forward on the rail, his hands clasping it.

"We need your diplomat to continue our discussion, and she will be accompanied by your doctor!"

"Doctor McCoy is, to reiterate the point from yesterday, under my command. He will not move unless I direct him to do so." Kirk's smirk slid onto his face for a moment knowing that Bones was not going to let him hear the end of that quip. He glanced at Spock, who said nothing, merely tilting his head slightly. Nevertheless, if someone did try to carry off the doctor, his commander would not have it. "As for Diplomat Phan, she is a Federation citizen. Forcing her off the Enterprise against her will would be tantamount to taking her as a hostage."

"But it is not against her will!"

"I fear I must correct you," Phan replied, stepping forward to stand beside McCoy, "It would be against my will. I dislike the lack of respect you have shown Captain Kirk, and his officers, particularly the doctor, in this case. I understand that you are on the edge of war, but we also expect propriety to afforded to us."

"You are replaceable," a tinny voice said from off-screen. The camera rotated to reveal Ziza, her boot up on an overturned tin. Uhura punched in a command on her screen, translating the label to read "biscuits." McCoy held in a smirk at that. Ziza ran a cloth over her boot to polish it and was turned in profile. Phan's gaze hardened as Ziza added, "And perhaps a replacement would be beneficial. I was not expecting such a step down from Diplomat Hedford."

"As I will reiterate, yet again, Your Highness," Phan replied slowly, as if Ziza was hard of hearing, "I am not Diplomat Hedford."

"Precisely my point," she replied, "The Federation has sent us a consolation prize. Tell me, diplomat, have you seen your children go hungry? Have you had your home dug out from under you, all to keep you under thumb of these, to borrow a human term, 'peacocks?'"

"Without we 'peacocks,' you would never have your precious navy," Meylu taunted from off-screen.

Kirk held up a hand. "Ladies—"

"Silence!" Ziza slapped the tin with the cloth, "I have nothing to say to you, Kirk! You will know your place!"

"How dare you!" McCoy exclaimed, "Queen or not, you—"

"Doctor." Spock cut off him off with a warning gesture.

McCoy silently fumed beside Phan.

"Perhaps we should also hear the opinion of the remaining queen?" Spock inquired to Kirk, who nodded.

Boots clomped over, and the camera panned to reveal Noreen, who stared back resolutely into the lens. "Very well, commander, I will give it." After a pause, Noreen decided, "Diplomat Phan, I pity you. This is clearly a task to which you are ill-equipped, and it has not been made easy. I too, would desire someone else, but we have come too far to ask for a replacement. Had Ziza and I been the ones to decide, however, I can assure you that you would not be moderating."

Phan said nothing, though her skirt swished as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"However, that is our lot on this planet. The Federation is more interested in our space worthiness than our navy, and I cannot expect anything better out of any of you."

Scott shook his head in disdain from where his back was turned to hide his expression. He was glad that Sulu had saved the detection. Chekov's eyes narrowed, and Sulu grasped his wrist. "Easy." McCoy's eyes met Spock's, and the doctor folded his arms tightly. Uhura tapped her fingers upon her board. Kirk made no reaction outside of a slight tilt of his head.

"That aside, I want to return to my children. You may stay, Diplomat Phan, and perhaps your presence will bring we queens to an agreement, if only to get away from you sooner." Noreen made a similar gesture to Meylu and Yi the morning prior and walked off. Ziza followed her without acknowledging the camera.

Stepping back into frame, Yi declared. "That's three votes. Phan stays."

"Only if it is by her will," Kirk replied, rolling his shoulders out against the chair. Turning his head to Phan, he added, "Diplomat, refresh my memory, have you voiced your desire to stay?"

"No sir, I have not," she answered. Before Meylu and Yi could talk over her, she explained, "I will not tolerate the disrespect I, and the others I trust with my safety, have been shown today. You will respect us, or this will not continue."

"Need I reiterate the point?" Yi demanded, her tone betraying her agitation.

"Then best you make your decision, Your Highness," Phan replied, bowing her head toward Kirk, "I defer to your judgment, captain."

Kirk acknowledged her with a raised hand, and Phan stepped back from the railing. Meylu's voice was cold as she declared, "If Norsica goes to war, Captain Kirk, this will be upon your head!"

"Then I will take it," Kirk replied evenly. "My orders were strictly to ensure the safety of Diplomat Phan's life. I cannot do that if she is carried off from us."

"Do you not know the death toll this will cause? We are on the cusp of war, you have seen it on our streets!" Meylu exclaimed.

"I did see so," leaning slightly in his chair, Kirk inquired, "In comparison to that, then, why is this matter such an issue?"

Meylu's eyes flashed, but Yi cut her off from speaking. "Perhaps we should more carefully review our priorities. All right, captain, you may send your landing party as you see fit."

"Thank you, Your Highness. We will be down shortly. Kirk, out."

Turning in his chair to look back, he asked, "Diplomat Phan, have you any other concerns?"

"No sir," she replied shortly, "If the doctor will continue to accompany me, I will prepare to leave."

McCoy nodded, and Phan moved toward the turbolift, with him following her. Kirk turned to the science station. "Mr. Spock? Lieutenant Uhura?"

Rising, he replied, "I am ready now, captain." Uhura gave a nod and rose as well.

"Good. We'll assemble the landing party. Mr. Scott, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir," Scott took his seat with a passing smile at Uhura as she walked by. After the lift doors closed, he said with a touch of irony, "Now, Mr. Sulu, let us look forward to a hopefully quieter orbit."

Sulu grinned, and Chekov stretched his hands over his head. "This should be interesting."

XXXXXX

"Tell me about the human mind."

McCoy turned his head at the question. "How would that interest you?"

Leaves floated by in a breeze. The forest glade slowly opened before them to show a quiet, still cemetery. An angel stood solemnly in the middle of the graveyard. The sense of finality to the scene, in Spock's calculation, was fitting, given with Korob and Sylvia had recently put the crew through. Thankfully, the damage this time to McCoy's mind was not nearly as severe, but nonetheless he preferred to verify that his lover was recovering.

McCoy didn't push him on his fears, but he could feel them. Spock, despite how illogical it was, did think on the penalties for mental rape on Vulcan. He disliked immensely being seen as a burden. He valued his own intelligence, and his disciplines. It was his, a place where no others could touch. And Leonard had suffered the darker side of what a Vulcan mind could accomplish.

McCoy met his eyes. Healers never judged their patients, but he had still wished to pull back. It was too personal a fear for him, due to his dignity being taken into account.

"A mind is a terrible thing to lose, and was considered especially so, in the nineteenth and early-to-mid twentieth centuries." He shook his head in disgust before fixing his gaze upon the angel. "The list for what could cause a human being to be stripped of all personal rights and locked up like an animal was long." He ran his finger over one of the angel's weathered wings. "As for the 'treatment,' if you could call it that, it was either barbaric, or completely useless. If anything, the patients became worse, or those that were wrongfully incarcerated within the asylums did genuinely go mad." Grit coated the underside of his finger as he concluded, "Most of the dead were buried under numerical tombstones to be forgotten, though some names were recovered. I've only seen about one of them, and, like most, the nuclear winters of the twenty-first century wore them past legibility."

"Would you say that it was due to a lack of understanding of the mental field, or fear, that drove this inhumane practice?" Spock inquired.

Looking over his shoulder at him, he replied, "Both, and, to be blunt, pure power play. Not all the medical staff's intentions were pure, and the same goes for the guards. Mostly, it was a place for people to throw an unwanted individual away." His voice shook as he spoke.

Spock came to stand beside him. McCoy wiped off his finger on his pant leg. "And unfortunately, it took us the longest to understand that field of health." Turning his head sideways, he added sardonically, "Feel free to gloat on that point, Vulcan."

"I find your remark inappropriate," Spock replied, sidestepping McCoy's pestering, "Nevertheless, you are comparing two differing forms of life. A human cannot be expected to fully understand the Vulcan mind."

"Do you?" He asked. A leaf fell on McCoy's shoulder, and he off-handedly brushed it away.

"I am not a healer," Spock replied simply. Folding his hands behind his back, he moved on, McCoy following him. He could feel that the doctor was miffed by his answer, but that was what he had to offer.

"But you look down on humans," McCoy reminded him.

"That is based upon factual data, not conjecture," Spock answered, "There are fields that Vulcans are objectively better at than humans. You have said so yourself. Yet, in the same breaths, you take umbrage to what I have to say."

"You seem keen on flaunting your 'factual data.' Why not let it speak for itself?" McCoy asked in an even tone.

"That is because you flaunt how you perceive humanity as better," Spock replied.

"Does that annoy you?" McCoy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Spock decided against taking his bait. "You have not contradicted me. Nevertheless, I find it interesting, given the company you keep."

With a shrug, he replied facetiously, "It's not like I have anyone else."

The regret he was concealing with that remark ghosted between them in silence. "It is enough, for now," Spock decided quietly. Leaves whispered past McCoy's face. "We must return to reality."

McCoy nodded, and the illusionary forest faded away. Regaining himself, he slowly blinked at the incense-laden room, his arms resting upon those of a chair Spock had positioned in the middle of the room. Spock's hands gently adjusted his head from behind and kept it from falling backward as he sat up.

"You are becoming stronger," Spock commented as McCoy steadied himself.

"Remarkable, then, since my extra-sensory levels are reportedly low," McCoy commented.

"Potential does not always equate to actuality," Spock pointed out.

McCoy was skeptical. "Where exactly is this going to get me?"

"Strengthening your mental abilities will allow for you to reduce damage, and to heal more quickly, from a mental invasion," Spock replied.

"But not to stop it," he added, "No, I didn't think so." Lifting his chin, he added, "And I don't want to have to rely on you when someone tries to get into my head again."

"You are not Vulcan. Many crewmembers are also human," Spock reminded him gently.

McCoy sighed in annoyance. "We're back to the racial issue."

Spock placed his hand on his shoulder. "Rest, now."

McCoy chuckled. "Oh, no, I'm not letting that one go with the protective mate act."

"You are seeking conflict where it does not exist. I understand that you do not wish to rely solely upon me, hence we have begun this practice. Nevertheless, I will give you a realistic perspective on this."

McCoy brushed from underneath his hand. "Just spare me my pride."

"If you think I am not doing so, then I have nothing to say."

McCoy stared at him for a few moments. Sighing, he said, "Come on." Grasping Spock's arm, he gently guided him after him to bed.

XXXXXX

Phan's vitals were jumping. Her heart rate was increasing, and her bodily temperature was rising. McCoy leaned forward over his chair. It wasn't illness that the symptoms denoted, rather it was stress. She was more animated now, while previously, she had been stone-like.

His fingers tapped his arm. Still, it wasn't overly much so. She would rise or bring her arm down when one of the queens talked out of turn, as opposed to allowing it to go too far. Meylu, he noticed, was more subdued now, in that she was making far less hand motions. When she did open her mouth, he noticed Yi slightly turning her head toward her, or making a subtle bodily motion toward her. By contrast, it was Noreen who was more aggressive, leaning forward in anticipation to snap at Yi.

Phan's outheld arm stopped her short, causing her to turn her head, and stare at the diplomat in surprise. Ziza chose that moment to pipe up but was cut off by Phan's hand clenching into a fist and slamming down upon the surface of the table. The four queens stopped talking, and stared at Phan, who retained a serene expression.

Regardless, the boredom was beginning to get to him. Sitting down for hours doing virtually nothing was taxing on him, but he was willing. If it was to stop a war, that would be enough. Now that Phan seemed to be stronger, perhaps it could be pulled off.

The door opened, and she entered for intermission, wiping the strands of her hair from her face. "Doctor?"

He rose from the chair. "What do you need, miss?"

She smiled. "How about a drink?"

XXXXXX

The second and third days were not as eventful as the first. Spock glanced down at the signal on his tricorder, with Uhura at his elbow. The pulsing beacon vanished as it was turned off. "That is the sixth," Spock commented, "They appear to be going offline in a sequence."

"Then Diplomat Phan's suggestion of this being a test was correct," Uhura commented quietly.

If Yi had been testing Meylu, as Phan had suspected, given the summary Uhura had given him of her conversation with the diplomat, then that would have been fine, but for all the prejudice the Norsicans held against off-worlders, they seemed not to have an issue with involving them as game pieces in their own politics. That Spock did not tolerate.

They reconnected with the second half of the landing party, being Kirk and Pitcairn, who was rotating for Chekov. The main road they had left them on was emptying of more typical passerby, while others, carrying signs, banners, and backpacks, were heading off, uniformly, down the road. Kirk and Pitcairn were watching them but turned at Spock and Uhura's voices. "What have you found?" Kirk inquired.

Presenting the tricorder, Spock explained, "The sixth transmitter is being shut down. No others have been located."

"Good, then Phan and Bones are safe," Kirk replied in a relieved tone of voice.

"What is it, sir?" Uhura asked, glancing at the crowd.

"It appears to be a demonstration," Kirk commented, "Mr. Pitcairn and I were curious as to what was going on, as well."

Several young Norsicans, the majority male, led the protests, swinging their fists, chanting that they would not go to war. Police cars and vehicles pulled up a distance off from the landing party, bearing far to the front of the protest march, and officers clambered out of them. Putting up shields and helmets, they slowly began to move forward, pinning the protest backward.

"Can we do something, sir?" Pitcairn inquired.

"Not in this instance," Kirk replied, "Considering the attention we've already garnered, we should—"

Cries and yells sounded, and the line broke, with the protestors turning and running from the police, who were advancing on them with batons and tear gas. A few fired warning shots with their phasers. The crush of people swept past the landing party, separating its members, and pinning Uhura and Pitcairn together while Kirk and Spock were each left to their own.

"Spock!" Kirk called over the din, swinging about to look at him. He barely was able to catch a stumbling male from falling and becoming trampled. Shouldering through the crowd, and grunting from the hits he took, Kirk clambered on top of a lamp post's base. His eyes darted about wildly for his crew members, his frustration rapidly growing as he failed to locate his quarry.

Pitcairn gasped as someone rammed straight into him, knocking him down. His elbows rose to shield against the stomping feet that never fell. Rather, the next sound he heard was Uhura angrily exclaiming, "Out of my way! OUT!" His cloak was seized, and he stumbled to his feet to see her, waving her phaser about as a deterrent, dragging him behind an overturned bench.

Had the good doctor been with them, McCoy would have leapt into the fray, no questions asked. Spock found a sense of relief in not having to restrain another individual, but nevertheless found it to be fleeting as he swung his head about. Norsicans ran in confusion, tripping over one another, and knocking each other to the ground in the pandemonium. Police charged the crowd and yelled, beating and dragging off protestors. Put off by the violence, he darted low as he saw the form of a Noriscan, lying on its side, being trampled by the others.

Spock grunted as flailing legs and arms smacked into him. Gathering his strength, he launched himself protectively onto the shape, who turned, with a groan, to reveal itself to be a female, half-naked from torn clothing, and having a bruised face. "Take cover!" Spock commanded, wrapping his arm about the female and dragging her away.

Blinded, she flailed about in fear, not understanding who was carrying her. He grunted as her elbow knocked his oxygen mask loose, leaving it to hang off his face.

Spock gasped a mouthful of humid Norsican air out of pure instinct, and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth to catch his cough. He cursed his human half for not thinking logically. The Norsican woman, her blue blood splashing on his cloak and the ground, wobbled as she crawled away, her hindquarters shifting in an uncomfortable fashion. She wheezed as she moved slowly through the mud and grit for shelter.

Spock turned his vision away from her, and fumbled with one hand for his mask, while the other upheld an arm to shield himself.

"Spock!" Kirk's voice sounded strained, as if he was shouting himself hoarse. Police sirens screeched in the distance. Dropped and trampled signs whispered away in the water. Groans were heard from fallen Noriscans.

Think, he had to think. Spock shut his eyes, and moderated his breathing to slow down, inhaling barely more than was absolutely needed. It felt as if a pin was lancing through his nose, and into his windpipe, but that was manageable, as opposed to the previous sensation, which had felt more akin to inhaling a knife. Grasping the mask, he breathed out, as opposed to in, first, allowing the rebreathing filter to clear out the water that had gathered within the mask, and his mouth.

"Spock!" He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced over. Kirk had knelt beside him, worry on his face. "You okay?"

"Affirmative." Slowly, he rose to view the scene more clearly. Police were rounding up other still-standing protestors. A medical vehicle tore through the mess.

"Hey! You two!" A police woman yelled, gesturing toward them with her club. She began advancing slowly toward them through the stumbling figures.

"Perhaps it is better if we left," Spock commented.

Kirk nodded, and they moved away, keeping toward the shadowed areas. Signs overhead blinked advertisements. Kirk's communicator beeped, and he flipped it open. "Kirk, here."

"Lieutenant Uhura, sir. Are you all right?"

Glancing over at Spock, who nodded, Kirk replied, "A little banged up, but otherwise fine. You?"

"Lieutenant Pitcairn and I sustained minor injuries. We're making our way to a quieter zone, now, as it seems the police are looking for anyone to pick up."

"Return to the Enterprise, then. If we're going to have to lay low for a while, you might as well make the most of it."

"Understood. Uhura out."

"Think we should chance going back, as well?" Kirk inquired.

"I would advise against it. Likely, the demonstration accrued media coverage," Spock replied.

Kirk shook his head. "Nevertheless, we'll have to make ourselves scarce for the time being, Mr. Spock. You'll need to get a new cloak. Be quick about it and reconvene with me. I know a courtyard not too far from here."

"Yes, sir."

Kirk took his leave of his second in command, his eyes tracing the dreary skyline. Ships continued to lance across it as they departed. If Noreen truly had meant she had said, when in communication with his ship's bridge, then her time limit was rapidly depleting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant Pitcairn is from the two-parter "The Menagerie." I am not getting fully into what happened to insane asylum inmates in the nineteenth and twentieth century, but I will say that after I learned of such, I slept that night with the lamp on.


	6. Chapter 6

McCoy felt frozen to the spot, his clenched fists shaking in barely contained anger as he stood, just behind the four queens, with Phan at his side, watching the viewscreen. Policemen and women overran the crowd of protestors, arresting and dragging off many.

Jim's head had poked up in one of the shots, and he hadn't found himself surprised at that, though he did want to give the fool a piece of his mind. "I need to be there," he muttered to Phan.

She turned her head, her dark eyes meeting his. Her gaze was sympathetic, and she slowly nodded. Before them, the queens bickered with each other, Ziza waving a hand and exclaiming at Yi, "Is this how you run a city, old fool?! Look at your people!"

"This can't stand, Yi!" Noreen chimed in, drawing herself as far as she could to her own height on her bad leg, "If this is how you treat your own people, then these peace talks are over!"

Meylu added, much to McCoy's surprise, in an accusatory tone, "Mark me, this will be the instigating action, if it is not contained!"

Holding up her hands, Yi yelled, "Enough, all of you!"

"I should say not!" Ziza hollered back, "We aren't your kowtowing citizenry!" Pointing at the viewscreen, she demanded, "There's your problem, now fix it!"

"Excuse me?" Yi growled, placing a hand to her breast, and leaning forward, "You are one to talk!"

"Pardon!" Phan's shoe meaningfully hit against the floor beneath her as she started forward.

The four of them turned to look at her. "What is it?" Meylu asked in annoyance.

"Dr. McCoy has expressed the desire to assist these people. Surely that might help to alleviate the issue?" She inquired.

"Him?" Meylu asked, glancing over at McCoy, who had let his fists go for her inspection. "He is already occupied."

"Yes, and he's being patently useless," Ziza replied, glancing over at Phan, "Keeping this little one alive is not necessarily difficult."

"You seem to be having a change of heart, Ziza," Noreen commented, "Is there a reason as to why?"

Ziza shrugged. "Simple. I don't like him. I want him to leave, and now there is a reason."

"Agreed," Noreen turned to look at him full on. "Doctor, your departure might bode well for us, in this situation. Have you a replacement?"

"I do," he replied, pulling out his communicator, "Nurse Chapel is more than qualified to oversee Diplomat Phan's health, provided that I have her permission to do so."

"I would prefer for you to remain, actually," Meylu argued, "You are a doctor, and she is a nurse."

McCoy raised an eyebrow at that, and Noreen asked, "Have you any other reason than that, Meylu?"

"My vote stands," she replied, resolutely folding her arms, "I am a queen. I need not state a reason further."

"On that note, then, I will also give the doctor permission to leave. I need no justification," Yi added, a note of humor in her voice. Meylu spun to look at her, only to meet with a contemptuous smirk.

"Good, I'll get a hold of her," McCoy decided.

"Outside, please," Yi gestured flippantly.

"McCoy, Phan, with me, now," Ziza ordered, stepping out from the small group. Caught off-guard, they followed her through the capital building, which was now abuzz with workers running to and fro, communication devices constantly beeping, and paperwork flying everywhere.

Ziza's goggles reflected the headlights of the trucks that moved by as she stood at the top of the steps of the capital building. Reporters were held at bay by military officials, with cameras snapping, and recording devices humming. Ziza's name was called by them. McCoy slowly raised his hood against the rain, while Phan remained beneath the overhang.

Ziza reached into her pocket, and pulled out a round black object, similar in size to a woman's compact, or a clamshell. It was smooth, much like a stone, and lit up in a yellow glow when she pressed her thumb down on its surface. "Captain Dira, report in."

"How may I be of assistance, Your Highness?" A woman's voice, bearing a raspy undertone, inquired.

"I have a passenger for you to carry on board the Harpoon, a Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy of the Federation. You are hereby instructed bring him to the closest port, within reason, to the incident that has recently occurred at the square. Do not allow harm to come to him."

"Aye, Your Majesty," Dira replied. One of the waiting ships in the harbor flashed its lights multiple times, McCoy realizing immediately that it was transmitting a message through Morse code. A smaller ship signaled back and made its way for shore. "Lieutenant Zann is now on his way to collect this officer. Have you further need of my assistance?"

"Not at this time. Good sailing to you."

"As to you, Your Highness."

Ziza pressed her palm down once again upon the communicator, extinguishing the yellow light. Putting it away, she turned to McCoy. "You may call your nurse, if you have not done so already, doctor."

McCoy nodded, and flipped open his communicator. "McCoy to Enterprise."

"Chapel here," a wary voice answered him.

Noticing her tone, he inquired, "Anything happen up there?"

"The away team has returned with a few minor injuries. I'm more concerned as to what this means for the planet," she commented.

McCoy's eyes moved to Phan for a moment. Her eyes narrowed at him, and he replied, "Nothing's happened yet. I have a task for you, nurse."

"Go ahead."

"I'm going to assist the wounded here. In the meantime, I need you to fill in for me with Diplomat Phan."

"Are any others allowed to help, doctor?" Chapel asked.

McCoy raised his mouth from his communicator as he more fully looked at Ziza. She shook her head. "You should have asked Yi that question."

"I will do so," Phan offered.

"Yi should transport the others," Ziza decided, "I am not a taxi service. I would just prefer to be rid of you as soon as I can be, McCoy."

"Thank you," he replied, the sarcasm settling into his tone before turning back to his communicator, "Undetermined now, nurse. Be ready to transport in five minutes."

"Understood."

Flipping the communicator closed, he watched a truck pull to a stop, and a driver's side door open to allow a husky figure in a diving suit out. Following behind him were two guards bearing rifles. The reporters slowly parted to allow them through the gates. "There is my lieutenant," Ziza announced, turning on her heel to walk back inside the building. "We'll be waiting for you, diplomat," she said over her shoulder.

"She's scared," Phan commented in sotto voce after Ziza was out of earshot.

McCoy folded his hands behind in his back to knead at them. "She has every right to be. Personally, I can't help but wonder how the four of them get anything done."

She shrugged. "Alone, they aren't so bad. Oh, and one thing about Dira," she glanced over at him, "Let her scan you when you get on board."

He stopped kneading his hands. "Is that customary?"

"In Ziza's fleet, yes. Too many incidents happened in close quarters, in the past. Each queen keeps the peace here, in her own way." He didn't feel the need or desire to ask about Noreen and Meylu's methods, and the sudden appearance of Nurse Chapel stopped their conversation.

"Good afternoon, doctor," Chapel greeted, and turning to her attention to Phan, added, "Diplomat."

Phan politely folded her arms at her, and McCoy commanded, "As soon as Yi gives permission for anyone else to beam down, let me know. I'll transmit my location to the Enterprise."

"Absolutely," turning to Phan, she stated, "I'm ready when you are."

"Take care of yourself," McCoy said to Phan. She nodded her head at him, her body silhouetted from where she was framed in the doorway. She turned and went inside, Chapel following her, rain whipping off her long hair and cloak.

McCoy hurried down the stairs. He was greeted at the foot by the large figure, his voice amplified by the speaker in his suit. In his hands was an object, covered by a thick cloth. "Lieutenant Commander McCoy, I gather?"

"Doctor," he corrected immediately, glancing with suspicion at the covered object.

Zann removed the cloth, and held out a gas mask, similar in design to the one Spock wore. "A precaution for the journey. We're not used to air breathers."

"Thank you." After taking it, McCoy was herded on by a clap to his back. Flanked by the two guards, with Zann bringing up the rear, he was led through the gate, and past the reporters, several of whom shouted questions, or "Doctor!" Flashes went off, causing him to grit his teeth and raise his arm in annoyance.

"The back of the truck, doctor. There isn't room in the cab," Zann directed him.

Climbing into it past a heavy curtain, McCoy gasped, falling and nearly bashing his head off a metal crate. "Damn planet," he mumbled, propping his hand upon the crate to keep himself from slipping as the truck rumbled off. It would be just his luck, he figured, if he was killed by a falling crate.

Surprisingly, this proved not to be the case. He was ushered into the previously seen small craft, which, after Zann had settled in behind him, took off. "Keep your legs close together, doctor!" He called from the rear, "Wouldn't want you falling out!" The Norsican gave a deep-throated laugh, slapping his knee from his little joke.

Squinting his eyes against the spray, McCoy wondered if he was going to be stuck with this insufferable man throughout the entirety of the journey. The craft stopped beside a hulking ship, with white letters McCoy could not read emblazoned on the side. A massive crane lowered, clamped onto the craft, and raised it. McCoy's stomach turned over at the sensation of weightlessness. Turning his head to the side, he watched the shadows of the ship's passengers move against yellow and red lights. A metal door dropped open, and Zann swung a leg to the side. With a grunt, he hauled himself over, causing the craft to swing out slightly. McCoy gritted his teeth and held tightly to the bench he was sitting on.

A gloved hand seized his shoulder. "Up we go!"

Brushing his hand off, McCoy drew up his cloak with one hand, and used the other to clamber over past the doorframe. The door closed behind the two, sealing them in a massive area well-lit by white lights. Ground vehicles stood in the area, with maintenance crews in gray jumpsuits moving about and performing repairs.

"The mask," Zann reminded him.

McCoy placed it on over his nose and mouth, and immediately found it uncomfortable. His breaths were amplified in his own ears, and he began to tug at it.

"It's recommended for your own safety, doctor, that you keep the mask on," Zann stopped him sharply, pausing to stand directly before him. McCoy's hands fell to his sides. He felt somewhat naked without his phaser and felt lucky that his communicator hadn't been taken. "We will not harm you, doctor, but it is recommended that you keep your findings and your sentiments to yourself," Zann explained, "Captain Dira prefers a steady voyage, and we tolerate the Federation, at the moment."

"Glad to know I'm welcomed," McCoy muttered.

"This way." He was led down a service ladder, and through a few sets of narrow corridors. Workers with yellow striped jackets brushed by him.

"Out of the way, human," one of them muttered in annoyance after her clipboard caught on his arm by mistake.

The hallways slowly opened, allowing him to hear more voices echoing about. The Norsicans on board drew his interest, and he carefully glanced about at each of them. Several of them, he noticed, bore scars and healed abrasions, notably from the rubbing of the breathing apparatuses around the neck. Others, having removed the top armor they wore on shore, revealed longer and deeper scars, as well as casts and bandages. He immediately felt sympathy for them and wished to attend to them. He wandered away from Zann, toward the nearest Norsican, only to be drawn backward by an arm. "Let go of me!" McCoy exclaimed in annoyance, tugging at his arm, "I'm only trying to help!" The Norsicans in the room paused to mutter among themselves before briskly vacating the area.

"You have not been given permission to go wherever you please on this ship," Zann replied in a firm tone, "Now, come with me, or I will deposit you back on that dock." McCoy glared at him but made no further sign of protest.

Zann led him through a circular doorway, illuminated in a mustard yellow. Through it, the ship's bridge was lit in dark reds and oranges. The stations hummed with activity, and a woman's voice was heard. "Environmental awareness is the key to overcoming our disadvantage. Nox, make a note of this. I want a greater contingent granted to disembarkation." The speaker was currently sitting slightly forward in a chair, her head tilted forward as she looked toward the glass that framed the ship's nose. Her one hand was spinning an orange disk-like interface on her chair's right arm, while the left tapped upon blue and green buttons.

"Noted, captain," replied a male who stood beside the chair as he scrawled upon a PADD.

"Captain," Zann called.

The woman, without releasing her grip on the controls, turned her head, revealing, much to McCoy's surprise, a mechanical eye on the left side of her face, which glowed a muted red. "Ah, Lieutenant, there you are. And you've brought our passenger along safely. Lieutenant Commander, is it?"

"He stated that he prefers to be called 'doctor,'" Zann rumbled.

"That's fine. Come here, please, doctor," Dira entreated.

Zann moved out of the way, allowing McCoy to step forward. Dira stared back at him, her mechanical eye lighting up for a moment as she cast her gaze fully over him. McCoy quietly allowed her to scan him, having no other choice. "Harmless," she declared. Turning her gaze back to Zann, she declared, "The guest quarters."

McCoy held up a hand. "Wait a moment. Could I make a request, Captain?"

She paused, and at last replied, "I suppose, if it isn't anything outlandish."

"I'd like to work in the infirmary, for as long as I'm here. Something in return for ferrying me," he offered. Dira leaned back, considering his offer. Her gaze flicked to the bridge crew in contemplation.

A great grinding came, and the craft descended. Bubbles drifted by the main viewer as the craft descended further into a dark, industrial network. Spotlights beamed sideways, catching and illuminating the hulking T-shaped apparatuses of support struts. Local fauna, those being a school of large, razor-backed fish, swam off into the distance. McCoy felt very small, staring out at it.

"Very well, but only for the time being. If I catch you harming any of our patients, you'll be spending this journey in the brig. Dismissed." Dira swung her head away, and Zann motioned for McCoy to follow him.

The halls slowly widened after they descended a set of stairs, ending in a porthole leading to a white lit room. A female Norsican in a lab coat, currently bent over a bed, glanced up. "Yes?" Her face looked surprisingly blank without a pair of goggles, displaying cat-like red irises. Age lined her face, and a scar carved out the right side of her mouth. Her bald head was wrapped in a blue bandana.

Zann ushered for McCoy step through the hatch. "A Federation doctor here to assist you, Lystra."

She shrugged. "If he loses the cloak, I'll take him."

McCoy grinned behind his mask, and promptly shucked it off before stepping through the porthole. "Dr. Leonard McCoy at your service, ma'am," he greeted.

"I'd give you the customary greeting, but I'm a little busy now," Lystra replied. Craning her neck past him, she asked Zann, "I assume he's a rental?"

"Correct, ma'am," he rumbled.

"And it's not time to take him back, right? Then why are you still here?" Lystra asked, her tone conveying annoyance.

"Say no more. McCoy, where your time is up, you're gone," Zann called over his shoulder as he walked off.

Lystra shrugged and gestured for McCoy to follow her into the room proper. "He's a good kid. Wish he'd get the mud out of his head half the time, though. Anyway, enough rambling." Sticking one hand in the pocket of her lab coat, she used the other to gesture about. "Most of our patients are having issues with their breathing apparatuses." McCoy nodded as he watched two other aides in lab coats carefully prying loose the apparatuses from sedated patients to clean under them. "Being able to take these off serves as a relief." Off-handedly, she adjusted her own. "However, I would prefer, actually, if you would focus upon arm and leg injuries." They paused before two beds, with each of the occupants having recently-bound limbs. "Accidents," she commented. McCoy nodded. "Good, now pay attention," Lystra leaned over the bodies, and began to pull instruments to carefully clean the wounds.

McCoy reached down and took off his medical bag to place on the table beside the beds. He glanced up, and found Lystra staring back at him, her red eyes gleaming. "You called me a rental," he stated, "meaning that you've spoken with non-members of your race before, am I correct?"

"Yes, you are," she replied, keeping her tone civil, "I don't doubt your qualifications, doctor, but this is my sick bay. You'll do as I tell you."

McCoy nodded, bowing to her authority. "But with one exception: only I can use the medical tools in my bag. If that leaves us at a stalemate, then I'm sorry."

"Fair," she agreed shortly, abruptly terminating the conversation to stride away.

McCoy swallowed back his frustration and moved toward his first patient on the bed. The male Norsican's goggles were also off, and he squinted up at him. His arms and legs were bound tightly with bandages. "Hello, human," he greeted drily.

"Hello to you, too," McCoy greeted in the same dry tone, pulling his tricorder from his bag, "What're you in for?"

He gave a pained smile. "Crush injury. I was welding a few parts in engineering when the machine toppled about a week ago."

"You're lucky to be alive," McCoy commented, his eyes flicking back up at him.

"Don't I know it," he mumbled. His eyes followed McCoy's hands as the doctor gently ran his hands over his leg to test the integrity of the splints.

"Does Lystra have you on physical therapy yet?" He inquired.

He sighed. "Nope, not yet. It drives me crazy, being in here. I can't even see outside. Must say being treated by a human is most entertaining thing that's happened, as of now. What's your name, by the way?"

"McCoy," he replied, reaching to the side to pull a pair of surgical scissors off the tray. The bandages needed cleaned and changed. He could attempt to administer a painkiller, but it wasn't needed at this point. Lystra, according to the medical scanner, already had begun re-growing the patient's bones at an accelerated rate, with similar technology to the Federation.

However, he thought to himself as he cut through the bandages, it was possible that Ziza's clan could have had contact with Klingon medical technology. For as interesting as he found the prospect, his patients came first.

Time moved quickly in the medical bay, though it seemed as if Lystra was more focused upon keeping him involved with cleanup work. He kept a careful eye on his medical scanner and was careful to put his findings on Ziza's clan away. Spock, hopefully, would be able to fill in some of the holes on his own time.

The door groaned, and the hatch opened. McCoy turned to see Zann re-entering the room, McCoy's cloak in his webbed hands. "Come, doctor." McCoy nodded, swallowing back his tiredness at being led around on this world as he departed the area.

XXXXXX

Kirk had the feeling that he should have already known what was to happen, when McCoy told him via communicator that he was not with Diplomat Phan, but instead treating patients at the city square. "That's well and good, Bones, but that's not what I ordered you to do."

"You can discipline me later, Jim. These people needed assistance," McCoy replied, his short tone indicating that he had not much time to speak.

Spock met Kirk's eyes on that. They were currently clad in new robes and were standing on a street corner on the opposite side of the city from their previous location. Norsicans were watching viewscreens displaying the riot and pointing at them with shocked expressions and exclamations.

"Doctor, that is inappropriate of you to say," Spock chided him, "That was a direct order, issued by your commanding officer. We have the authority to recall you."

"Go ahead, then, Mr. Spock. Order me back," his voice sounded gritted, as if he was holding something between his teeth while speaking, "But before you do so, Queen Ziza herself stated, more than once, that she didn't want me there, to point where she had me ferried away."

"I fail to see how a change in medical practitioners could sway the entire mood of a diplomatic meeting. Nevertheless, we can adhere to her sentiment, illogical though it is." Kirk thought he heard a note of resignation in that, and understood Spock's weariness, particularly given the violence of the day.

"Agreed. Bones, report in at 1700 hours for beam up," Kirk decided.

McCoy grumbled at the lack of time that gave him, but acquiesced, off-lining his commlink.

"I would recommend not making ourselves well-known at the moment, Captain," Spock commented.

Kirk nodded at that. Uhura had left the group and was standing across the street to take recordings of the chatter of the gatherings. Pitcairn shadowed her a short distance away.

Spock glanced over the diversified crowd and nodded as he found his quarry. A pair of Norsicans in heavy diving armor, one of whom was drinking from a hip flask, stood on the edge of the crowd. "I will return momentarily, captain," he stated, moving away from Kirk, and threading his way backward through the crowd. Tugging at a side pack he had thrown over his robe, he pulled out his tricorder, the voices of the two growing louder as he drew closer.

"Damn idiots," one of them muttered, "Got what they deserved."

"That's a little harsh, though," the other replied as the flask was passed to him. Stepping behind them, Spock quietly scanned over it. As the other bent his head backward to take a drink, he ran the tricorder up, and quickly stepped back into the shadow of a few crates.

Kirk watched his friend's movements and shook his head. Epsilon Canaris III, despite its being under the Federation's banner, was teetering move towards losing that status, now. He would be sure to put that in his report at the conclusion of the mission. As to how long it would take for the mission to end, it was up to the diplomatic table. He found he heavily disliked that control being wrested from him, and desired not to be on another escort mission in the future. Nevertheless, given the fire he saw in Phan, he was optimistic.

The viewscreen switched over quickly, startling the crowd. Kirk had his communicator out before the news ran the ticker line, his other hand clenched into a fist at his side. It relaxed when the ticker stated that an agreement had been reached between the queens.

Snapping the communicator shut, he spotted the three forms of his crewmates joining him in order to avoid the crowd. It was not yet over, but it felt as if a weight had been taken from his shoulders.

XXXXXX

While his objective was focused upon the diplomat, Spock noted that he would prefer to be away from this planet, the sooner the better. The capital building's doors were opened, allowing Yi and Meylu to step forward. Pausing between them were two cloaked figures, one of which nodded at the words and gestures before both queens as they turned their backs on them to walk away.

Uhura tiredly closed her eyes and gave a relaxed sigh. Pitcairn was at her side with a hand over his holstered phaser. Kirk smiled as he watched Phan, with Nurse Chapel at her side, walk past the reporters, her cloak billowing. Lowering her hood, she declared into an upheld microphone, "War has been averted on this day, however it is up to the judgment of the queens from hereon to keep this peace. That will be all."

The reporters continued to shout questions at the diplomat as she moved past them, and attempted to follow, calling out more questions. The military held them back. Pausing before the landing party, Phan stated, her hair becoming damp from the rain, "I believe that will be all, captain."

With a smile, Kirk flipped open his communicator. "Enterprise, six to beam up. Energize."

Near the city square, McCoy washed blue blood from his gloved hands. The hospital was makeshift, being a converted transport terminal with a tent thrown over it for the more critically wounded. Those who could be transported were taken to the closest hospital.

Nurse Valentine appeared beside him, her hair thrown up in a bun. Blood was crusted on her cheek and stuck under her fingernails. Her words were quick from excitement, and her hands were loaded with medical equipment. "Doctor, the debates are over. The queens have decided on peace!"

McCoy's smile was reflected for a moment in the tilted mirror before him. The next, he glanced over his shoulder, and asked pointedly, "Shouldn't you be somewhere, nurse?"

Valentine left quickly at his gruff tone, though there was a spring in her step. He sighed, however, as he attempted to scrub the clotted blood off his arms. "Should never have gotten this bad to begin with," he muttered under his breath.

XXXXXX

"Captain Kirk, on behalf of my planet, I wish extend my thanks to you and your crew for conveying Diplomat Phan to us safely," Yi stated, her hands folded from where she sat upon her throne. Ziza and Noreen had already descended beneath the waves, and Meylu had left for the forests.

Phan once again stood behind the rail, McCoy beside her. The bridge crew continued to man their posts.

"Gratitude is not needed. It was our mission," Kirk replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Spock's hands moving considerably more slowly over his controls. Kirk himself looked toward leaving this planet behind for quite a while.

"Regardless, your services have been rendered," Yi replied, "However I do," she folded her hands in her lap, "wish that your crew had not taken the liberty of placing their noses in our intimate affairs. It is not becoming of a friendly alliance."

Kirk nodded. "Then forgive us our behavior. Nevertheless, I would like to make a point before we leave."

"You may," she replied, though Kirk noted that she was tapping her fingers against her skirt.

"The Federation considers Epsilon Canaris III to be a client state. While we respect your culture, Your Highness, we also consider the rights of all sentients to be important. Genocide formed the ashes from which the Federation grew, and we do not condone it. Take this into account."

"We will take your words under consideration, captain," Yi replied cordially, "Farewell."

The screen went to black, and Kirk turned slightly in his chair. "Mr. Sulu, set course for Starbase Ten, warp four."

"Aye, sir," he replied, keying in the command.

Kirk turned at the rustle of Phan's skirt to see the diplomat disappearing into the lift. Turning back away, he focused his gaze upon the stars. Whatever future Epsilon Canaris III wanted, it was in the hands of the Norsicans. Nevertheless, he swallowed back a sense of bitterness at the possibilities, and could not shake the image of the riot.

XXXXXX

McCoy looked over the information Spock had sent him on the PADD and nodded his head. It wasn't a complete picture, but it was enough to start.

"Nurse, come look at this, please."

Chapel glanced up from where she was setting multiple samples in an incubator. Glancing over it, she commented,"I see. Most of the cells seem to be impacted by the complex industrial chemicals from the city area."

Placing the PADD down on the table, he decided, "We're headed for Starbase Ten now, and we'll have time. Best we start working on a treatment."

Chapel smiled warmly. "Agreed, doctor."

XXXXXX

"Good evening, doctor," Spock greeted upon the opening of the door to his quarters.

McCoy lifted the flask to show him. "Figured if I did something stupid, you'd want to know."

Spock raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to enter. "I suppose it is good that you have enough sense to come to me."

McCoy uncorked the flask and sniffed at it. "Pity you don't find the stuff as appetizing as I do. We could enjoy it together."

"I derive enjoyment without needing to drug myself," he replied.

McCoy smirked at him before taking a shot from the flask. "Ah, yes, that's why you have a love of chocolate."

Spock paused at that before gesturing McCoy to a chair. Leonard sat down upon it, setting the flask on the floor.

McCoy leaned his chair back against the wall. Spock sat quietly before him. He was free of the mask, at last. "Does something about me interest you, doctor?" Spock inquired quietly.

McCoy set the flask down. He hesitated, and gathered his thoughts before replying, "C'mere."

Spock's eyes flicked to the flask. McCoy's fingers slipped from it as he replied, "Leonard, I cannot."

"I'm not even close to drunk, Spock," he replied with a slight edge to his voice. In a gentler tone, he continued, "I'm just relaxing, is all."

Spock remained firm. "I do not wish to take advantage of you."

"You're not," he replied, "I want you."

"There is likely a chance that your desire is based upon a certain euphoria. A war has been averted, for the moment," Spock commented.

"Then I wanna celebrate," he pushed.

"Are we not, already?" He inquired, "We are spending our time together."

"It's not enough," McCoy answered, "Not tonight. C'mere."

Spock got up, and, much to his lover's surprise, covered his hands with his own. "If you are not ready for this, we will not continue. I do not wish for you to be hurt."

"I've waited long enough for this," McCoy argued.

"T'hy'la," Spock's grasp on his hands became tight.

McCoy held up their hands and rubbed the side of his cheek against them. "Please."

Spock lowered his gaze and took a breath. Glancing up, he commanded the room's door to lock. McCoy smirked, glad to have been given his way. He let go of Spock's hands, and grasped the back of his head to pull him in. McCoy ran his tongue over his partner's lips, and Spock, albeit with slight hesitation, parted them to allow him in. He groaned and grasped the back of McCoy's head, rising with the doctor.

Spock allowed McCoy to guide him, backward, to his bedroom. "C'mon, love," McCoy murmured against his lips, "It's not fun if you can't enjoy it, as well."

"I am enjoying it. I do not need to exaggerate such," he replied.

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "What're you afraid of?"

"I do not fear," he responded.

"Could've fooled me," Leonard replied sarcastically, drawing his thumb over his cheek, "Spock, I need you to trust me."

"If I had not, I would not have allowed you this control," he replied, placing his hands upon the bed behind him, and looking down.

McCoy caressed the side of his face, coaxing him to look up. For a moment, irrational fear jolted through the human at his closeness to the man. The next, however, McCoy rubbed his cheek against Spock's, and shifted his weight to push him down on the bed. McCoy sat up, splaying his hands on either side of him. This wasn't his dark twin that stared back at him, he realized, but nevertheless he was concerned. Spock raised his hand to him. "Clasp your hand to mine. I will know, then, if it becomes too intense for you."

McCoy grasped it and kissed his wrist. "Here's to hoping my grip doesn't slip, then."

"I will not let go," he reassured.

McCoy leaned down and kissed under his jaw. "Love you," McCoy whispered as he moved his head up to look at him, "so much."

Spock made no verbal reply, but he instead grasped McCoy's hand tightly. His own affections for him bled through the touching of their skin. McCoy was miffed at his hesitation, but slowly relaxed. He ran the palm of his free hand over Spock's tunic, rumpling it. Grasping it, he tugged up on it, bringing the tunic up. Spock's hand joined his for a moment before he tugged at the tunic, moving it up and over himself. When he released McCoy's hand to take it off, and deposit it off the side of the bed, he brushed his leg against his companion's.

McCoy nuzzled up against Spock's chest, his fingers stroking his pectorals through the clinging fabric, while Spock captured his other hand again. "Might wanna take this off too, darling," he commented.

"If it makes you comfortable," he replied.

McCoy's gaze narrowed. "It's a two-way street. I can't keep forcing you to take things off."

"Do you consider that perhaps I am taking pleasure in this?" When McCoy said nothing, Spock added, "You are confident in yourself again, t'hy'la." Spock slowly sat up and tugged away the undershirt to deposit over the side of the bed.

McCoy stared down at Spock's bare chest. Spock's counterpart had been fully clothed while assaulting him. There wasn't any point in stopping now. He placed his hand upon Spock's chest, and moved it toward his heart. Spock breathed in as his fingers smoothed over the dark hair on his abdomen but was quiet as McCoy felt his heart thumping intermittently under his hand. He was calm, at peace, even now, at least in his vitals. Vulcans could, however, moderate their signs, as Spock was likely doing. So much for them not lying.

McCoy's hand found Spock's pants, and a hand wrapped around his, holding his fingers fast. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't be reaching there if I wasn't."

"Very well. Allow me to me sit up."

McCoy slid backward, adjusting his weight on the bed, as his knees were beginning to hurt. Spock tugged off his boots and socks, dropping them on the floor. He turned his dark gaze to Leonard, who ran a hand searchingly over his pants before finding the zipper. Spock slid backwards along the bed, allowing himself to be tugged out of the garments, which McCoy quickly disposed of.

Spock sat stark before him and drew up his knee to shield part of his image. McCoy caught it and lowered it. Spock tilted his head to the side as his erection was displayed. A blush dusted his cheeks. McCoy's hand switched around on his knee to grasp underneath it. Spock brought his other leg together, and Leonard tugged him over. He kissed along Spock's jaw, and nibbled at his lips. He felt along Spock's inner thighs, stroking at the sensitive flesh there, and causing his partner to groan and move his hips up against him.

Breaking off, McCoy shook his head. "The fabric's scraping against you. It can't be comfortable."

"You may leave it."

"What'll I do then? Hump you?" He glanced at their hands and drew his back toward himself. McCoy's hand found the front of his tunic. "You don't mind?" He asked.

"Certainly not," Spock assured.

McCoy slowly tugged at his uniform shirt, Spock letting go of his hand to lay his palm against the side of his leg. The black undershirt fell off the side of the bed, and Spock sat up slightly on his elbows. "Ashayam…."

McCoy, despite himself, felt his cheeks heating up. "What's the matter, you've never seen a naked man before?"

"May I?" Spock asked quietly.

"Sure." Spock slowly extended a hand, palm open, toward him, and gently stroked his chest, McCoy giving a slight shiver as the hair on it stirred. Spock petted him and rolled his thumb into his skin. He took care not to push, keeping his emotions restrained. However, he did speak with his hand, slowly curling it inward to rub his knuckles against McCoy's chest. He raised his hand slowly up to rub his knuckles against the side of his lover's cheek. McCoy closed his eyes and leaned into it before grasping Spock's hand to lower. His blue eyes snapped open.

He let go of Spock's hand, and the Vulcan lowered it. Grasping his boot, he tugged each one off, Spock's hold on his hand tightening to keep him from falling off the bed. McCoy's hand paused at the waistband of his pants, his resolve wavering.

"You do not have to do this," Spock reassured.

McCoy raised an eyebrow at him, his gaze flicking down at Spock's erection. "Wouldn't want to leave you like that."

"We have done other things."

McCoy's fingers tightened against Spock's. Spock could feel his hesitation and knew that he was half willing to take him up on that. However, the pressure released, and McCoy smiled. "Now, where would be the fun in that?" Unzipping his pants, he stripped them and his boxers off, turning his head away to deposit them off the side of the bed.

"Len…" Spock whispered.

"Told you I wanted you," Leonard said quietly, trying to play it off with humor. He was leaking onto the sheets. He could feel his knees starting to come subconsciously together but stopped them. Spock ran his thumb affectionately over his hand. It felt as if Spock's counterpart had won over him, in that he was worried about tonight.

"Leonard." The bed creaked as Spock sat up. "Do not be ashamed."

McCoy's annoyance was heard in his voice. "We've been over this, though. I'm tired of the time and energy I've wasted on him. I want it to just end."

"We will do as you wish."

As an answer, McCoy crawled toward him, and straddled his lap. Spock moaned against McCoy's lips as his cock rubbed against his. Bringing their joined hands up, McCoy slid them along the bed's surface. Drawing out, he tentatively rolled his hips against Spock's. "T'hy'la!" Spock cried out, squirming along the surface of the bed.

"Easy, love," McCoy coaxed. Spock, however, found it difficult to comply, as he forced his body not to react too strongly. Leonard's thumb caught the tear that was running down the side of his face. "Spock," he stroked his cheek, panting heavily, "stop holding yourself back. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Doctor," he swallowed to gather his words, "I am disciplined to handle my desires."

McCoy was about to argue with him but realized that it wasn't the point. "You aren't going to hurt me," he coaxed, stroking his hair, "You're harming yourself, now."

"If I was harming myself, I would stop this," Spock's voice was breathy. McCoy's skin prickled as he felt Spock's hand running upwards over his right buttock. He glanced to the side and saw Spock's hand wobbling from where he still held McCoy's.

Leonard lowered his head and took a heavy breath. "Spock, I'm sorry, but I can't continue this." He moved to slide backwards, but Spock held him.

"Why?" He asked quietly.

"Because even though you keep denying it, I am hurting you. I can't do this any longer." McCoy's free hand fell to his side. His disappointment radiated to Spock through their touch. "Now, let me up."

"If I do not wish to?" Spock inquired.

McCoy leaned forward, a lock of sweaty hair falling over his head. "Then, let me in."

Spock rose slowly upon the bed's surface, and his hand moved up McCoy's back to fall on the side of his head. His other hand, which held his lover's, stopped shaking, and relaxed, allowing McCoy to let go for a moment, and shake his own hand out to return the circulation. When Spock felt the pad of his lover's palm on his again, and their fingers interlocking once more, he moved toward him.

McCoy groaned as Spock took a nipple in his mouth and sucked on it gently, a tentativeness behind the ministration. There were a few areas he knew that his mirrored counterpart had helped himself to and abused. What he found disturbing about it was such zones were areas that McCoy derived the most pleasure from, such as his nipples. His counterpart knew what he had been doing.

He glanced up, McCoy's nipple held carefully between his teeth, and met McCoy's eyes. Leonard was slightly dazed from the pleasure, but beyond that, Spock felt a sense of serenity from the trust he saw in his gaze. He lowered his eyes, and continued to pleasure his lover, his one hand coming up to tweak and rub McCoy's other nipple.

McCoy, seeing stars, moaned, and ground against him. "Spock," he gasped, "don't—don't stop!"

Feeling his companion's lust burning within him, Spock tweaked his nipple once more before choosing instead to palm and massage it. He hadn't done this with McCoy in a while, and he was concerned as to how sensitive the man was. The other nipple, he swirled his tongue over, kissing it wetly, and wishing to savor Leonard's rather musky taste.

McCoy had been long without this, and, while eager to return to it, realized too late that he had perhaps been too much so. Everything seemed to move too quickly, and the pleasure of it began to become too overwhelming to the point where it was starting to give him discomfort. Spock, however, tugged him back from the edge by stopping his ministrations, and pulling McCoy slightly sideways into his own chest in a hug, careful to not irritate his nipples. McCoy sighed. "I'm all right, I just need a break."

"We have all night," Spock replied gently.

How Spock was able to be calm in this, McCoy chocked up to his disciplines. He could feel how hard the Vulcan was against him, and for that matter, how hard he himself was. Spock said nothing, and, rather, a feeling of contentment radiated from him. McCoy lay his head against Spock's chest. Despite this, however, his own frustration built within him, and he drew backward, bringing Spock's hand with him.

A moment of silence passed before Spock asked, "Is this what you want, Ashayam?"

McCoy curtly nodded, and Spock moved forward, sparing their joined hands a glance. Holding their hands outward, he spread his legs, and hooked his ankles around McCoy's hips. McCoy felt blindly along beside himself to the bedside drawer. Finding the bottle of lubricant, he swung it around to place beside him on the bed. Undoing the top, he coated his hand with it. "Enjoy the show," McCoy commented with a touch of humor as he took his cock in hand. Spock, for a moment, felt a temptation to touch, as well, and stroke his lover's penis, its alien pink color fascinating him. However, taking Leonard's words for what they were, he instead stroked his own cock, adhering to his lover's instructions. Leonard lifted an eyebrow. "Listening to me for once? It must be a special occasion."

Leaving his coated cock alone, he stuck his hand back into the bottle, and drew his fingers out to present, sideways, to the air. Spock wanted, for a moment, to take them into his mouth, and lick them. McCoy chuckled. "No, you wouldn't want to taste this stuff. Now, up."

Spock complied, scooting forward, and lifting his lower half to expose his hole. McCoy was struck for a moment and paused. Spock's hand left his cock to grasp McCoy's. "T'hy'la," he entreated. Leonard nodded, and slowly moved his fingers over Spock's buttocks, and inside of him. His fingers gently brushed over the sensitive skin as he moved slowly deeper before at last drawing out.

Spock gasped, and buried his head in McCoy's shoulder, his free hand holding onto him. McCoy growled, "Spock, move!" Spock dropped his hand, only to grasp his forearm, and then his shoulder, to tug him in more closely. McCoy, his hand freed, grasped Spock's hip, and began to move him up and down in time with his thrusts.

Spock threw his head back, groaning from the pleasure. McCoy was careful in his pacing, not driving into him too quickly. Spock was utterly slick, and the musk from his cock enticed him further. McCoy kissed wetly up his neck. Spock's free hand grasped his cock and pumped at it. McCoy smiled against his neck. "Come on, Spock, I want to hear your voice."

"Demanding," Spock muttered, but felt too tempted to give in. He hadn't had much time to think of it, however, as he felt McCoy's cock hit his prostate. His breath caught in his throat, and he arched backward with a strangled cry. "Leonard!" His hand flew back to his cock. McCoy, growing tired, and wishing to see him, moved his head back from his lover's neck.

"Darling," McCoy groaned, grasping at what fragments of sense he still had, "you look so beautiful." Spock, previously, would have turned his head away at such praise, but this time, however, he met his lover's eyes with a strained expression. "Yeah, you know it, you look good on my cock."

"Len," Spock groaned.

"Too bad I can't get you mussed up so often. Might have to change that, I think."

"Len, please!"

McCoy, driven by hearing the utter neediness in Spock's voice, came, his fingers slipping on Spock's hips. He remembered himself, only vaguely, and grasped him again to keep him from sliding off. Spock buried his head in McCoy's hair, breathing deep his sweat and natural oils. With a grunt, he came, his hand falling, sticky with semen, to McCoy's leg. Spock lowered his head from McCoy's hair, and placed a gentle kiss upon his lips.

Spock gave a slight nod, and McCoy pulled out of him. Spock tiredly rested his head against McCoy's chest, the doctor arranging them to lie down. He smiled as Spock curled against him, letting out a relaxed breath. Spock's brown eyes opened and glanced up at him. McCoy cupped the younger man's cheek. Dropping it, he settled his arm around Spock's waist. The Vulcan sighed into the base of his lover's neck. McCoy smiled. "Hey, stop that, it tickles!"

"A minor inconvenience," he murmured, and made no movement.

McCoy ran his fingers over Spock's abdomen, causing the Vulcan to squirm slightly. McCoy chuckled as Spock moved his mouth away. "Not fond of playing fair, are you?"

"It was a petty squabble. There is no need to pursue such a thing."

"I see denial is a common tactic employed by Vulcans," McCoy commented.

"Should you not be sleeping, t'hy'la?" He asked, moving his hand up on his lover's face.

McCoy smirked, and settled against him. "I'll take that as a victory."

"I would not consider it such. I allowed you to win."

McCoy yawned. "Shut up, Spock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took longer to write than I thought. While I had fun designing the Harpoon, I also wanted to use this chapter to confront the elephant in the room I had made while constructing Norsica. Please note that this is only my second throw at wordbuilding in Star Trek fanfiction. As an aside, Nurse Valentine is my character. Captain Dira's name is a shout-out to the character Adira from Babylon 5.


	7. Chapter 7

McCoy wasn't sure what time it was, exactly, or whether he had truly awoken. Hands gently maneuvered him against the pillows to rest more comfortably. A sheet was tugged to rest in place over his legs. He felt lips on the side of his face. "Spock…?" He groaned, clumsily feeling about for him.

"Rest, Ashayam, there are still a few hours," he whispered, his weight disappearing off the bed, and his footsteps padding across the room.

Cracking his eye open, McCoy registered the wobbly outline of Spock sitting down on the other side of the mesh to meditate. Turning his head back to the surface of the pillow, he drifted into darkness once more.

He woke to the sound of running water. McCoy groggily sat up, throwing the sheet from him. He glanced about his surroundings, attempting to register them. He smelled of a faint musk, and the dried stains on the sheets tipped him off. A weight on his shoulders released as he realized that another bridge had been rebuilt between himself and his lover.

He grasped his clothing, which was piled at the foot of the bed, and tugged his undershirt and boxers back on. Footsteps whispered in the adjacent room, and Spock entered, clad in full uniform. "Morning, darling," McCoy greeted.

Spock nodded, and folded his hands behind his back. "Forgive me."

McCoy paused, his tunic hanging between his hands. "For…?"

"Having relations with you last night."

McCoy smirked. "You don't see me complaining."

"It was a reckless decision," Spock argued quietly, "It could have worsened matters than they already were. You were unsure if you were ready."

McCoy dropped the garment to the side in annoyance. "Don't you think that I was maybe tired of waiting, and that I wanted things to get better?" He shook his head. "I didn't want to keep walking around you on this. Eventually, it would have come between us."

"You recall what I told you, when I had walked you back to your quarters? It did not matter to me, whether our relationship would return to the physical sense, or not, so long as we were together. You should know me well enough by now to understand that that was not said for your comfort. I wished to be truthful in my stance."

McCoy was silent, and Spock felt a sense, in the long gaze he gave him, of being talked down to. Spock disliked it. McCoy was older than him, yes, but his emotional maturity was something to be desired. He was not as much a veteran of life experience as he thought himself to be. And that arrogance was very unflattering on him. His posture became stiff, any slight relaxation of expression Spock had vanishing.

McCoy's expression hardened. Spock certainly was one to talk when it came to arrogance, with his holier-than-thou view of humanity. However, he let out a breath, and decided against barbing him this time. "When I didn't address a problem in my past relationship, it didn't just go away," he snapped his fingers, "like that. It only festered and ended up poisoning both people. I don't want that to happen to us."

"Is that why you forced the issue?" Spock inquired.

"if you want to be so blunt about it, yes," he replied.

"I am not Jocelyn," Spock stated flatly.

McCoy put his head in his hands and felt completely embarrassed. Footsteps crossed over to him, and a hand was placed on his shoulder. Sighing, McCoy lowered his hands to his lap. "I assume you find it pathetic."

Spock's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Leonard, stop. I am concerned for you."

"Yeah, well, ever since I got back from that other universe, you've handled me like I was nitroglycerin," he growled.

"That is partly out of honor for my captain," Spock answered.

McCoy glanced up. "What's Jim got to do with this?"

"He advised me to allow you the space to heal," Spock explained, lowering his hand, "Perhaps you do not approve of my using a conduit to further understand you, but you were not well at the time. Never mind the fact that my observations about humanity tend to annoy you."

McCoy cracked his knuckles. "That's because, half the time, you don't give humanity a chance. I do the same with Vulcan philosophy, and that's an ugliness I'll eventually work on. Well," he shrugged, "either that or replace my brain with a motherboard, whichever comes first." Dropping his hands, he asked, "But why didn't you tell me that you talked to Jim?"

"You do not inform me of all private conversations you have with the captain," Spock replied.

"Yes, but it was about me," McCoy muttered in embarrassment. Spock raised his eyebrow at him, and he caught himself. "Oh."

"Perhaps I should not have kept this from you, but I was unsure, exactly, what to do."

McCoy smirked. "Well, I'll be. There must be a blue moon rising tonight."

"I find your statement illogical. There are no nearby moons of that color," he replied as McCoy guided him to sit down beside him. Spock complied, moving McCoy's uniform shirt aside.

"Figure of speech," he replied, "Sorry I haven't been the easiest person to live with lately."

"Lately?" Spock inquired. At his lover's annoyed expression, he laid the point aside. "It is understandable. I resemble him. You have also apologized multiple times for this. Further recriminations are not needed, nor were they to begin with. This was not your fault."

McCoy folded his arms and turned away from him. Through their bodily contact, Spock felt a sense of self-loathing that Leonard felt. While the physical component was certainly there, it was also due to years of regrets that Spock's counterpart had dug into and judged him for. Every intimacy and fantasy McCoy had had been ripped from his grasp and used to humiliate him. The healing mind meld he had initiated with the primary universe's Spock had been a start, but it would take longer to truly heal. It wasn't logical at all, and it wasn't a healthy course of action, but he found that he could understand it. For as slipshod as McCoy claimed him to be in handling relations with his crewmates, Spock knew that telling him he was acting irrational would wound him grievously.

Embracing McCoy from behind, Spock buried his head in his shoulder. Humans were amusing, in their own way, though more so frustrating. But to say that they were worthless was utterly wrong. Spock, in his own way, spat upon humanity, as his classmates had upon him for his mixed heritage. And that was not to say that humans weren't exempt from this. The man he was currently embracing, for example, made cutting remarks, though they had been easy to put down. The ease, however, signified to him that they were harmless. Any ill intentions were dropped when their lives were on the line. It didn't matter now, however. It would be foolish for him to walk away from something he had invested his time into, much less something that provided healing to him. There were aspects of their relationship that he did not give words to, as it would go against his disciplines.

And more often, he found, words were simply not needed.

McCoy shut his eyes, his arm falling across his lap. He leaned backward into his lover's embrace. He didn't expect things to suddenly make sense again, after last night, but he did feel disappointment, nonetheless. One of the main issues he had was that it was difficult for him to move into the future, being anachronistic in comparison to his crewmates. But this was different, and it unnerved him to realize it. For as many times as he had turned over that memory, unable to stay away from it, it was hard to truly come to terms with his own personal violation. He hadn't thought it would happen to him, much less like this.

And yet, there was this peace he did have with Spock now. It was, in a way, a sense of whiplash. He had merely confronted a fragment of his past in the meld he had shared with Spock. No, there would not be closure on this incident, and perhaps that was what he found most disturbing of all. There were these gentle reassurances, though, that Spock was whispering through their bodily contact. They were nice for now, but they were not permanent.

Spock had wanted to remain by his side, even in the aftermath of this. He was willing to do this. McCoy felt a sense of relief at that, but nevertheless, drew back in on himself. He wasn't an invalid. However, he stopped himself just as soon. Spock was showing him his weak point. He could only repay him in kind. McCoy settled himself back against his lover, and felt his embrace tighten. A grin slowly spread across the doctor's face. "Next shore leave, let's go somewhere dry. We'll count the stars."

"That would be satisfactory," Spock agreed. A few relaxed minutes, punctuated by their breathing, passed until Spock whispered in his ear, "Finish getting dressed, Ashayam. Our captain is waiting for us."

XXXXXX

During Phan's departure, Kirk wore his dress uniform. The diplomat appeared to be quite tired as she walked at his side down the hallway, the rucksack back over her shoulder. "That wasn't easy," she commented quietly.

Kirk smiled at that. "That's saying little."

Phan tilted her head, glancing at him sidelong. "Captain, I must apologize for misjudging you and your crew. I had thought you careless after the death of Diplomat Hedford, but that was incorrect."

"To be fair, you were worried about your own life. I apologize for putting you ill at ease," he replied, "Nonetheless, it's been a pleasure."

The doors to the transport room opened, and Phan stepped onto the pad. Turning back, she inquired, "I assume you will continue to explore, now?"

Kirk nodded. "That's right."

"Then I wish you well in your endeavors, Captain."

Kirk's smile widened to a grin as he glanced over at Lieutenant Kyle. "Mr. Kyle?"

"Energizing." Phan folded her arms at Kirk and vanished.

XXXXXX

McCoy puzzled over the star map that lay on the PADD before them. "That one's Betelgeuse, I think."

Spock nodded his head. "The dying star." He tapped the map, which was zoomed in upon their current world, bearing the human moniker Ixchel. On the map, as he expanded it, markers intermittently glowed. Spock placed a marker upon Betelgeuse and glanced over a few of the others. Vulcan was signified, as was T'Khut. Earth glowed with it distantly. Far off to the side was the lonely planet that bore the botched first contact with the Iklosians, and the discovery of the defunct transhuman hub.

Spread out below them was a local village, set off in the rural districts of the planet. Lights burned from the windows beneath them. The region was a stepped plateau, with the locals irrigating their crops. In the distance a city stood, nestled against the side of a mountain. Roaring sounded in the distance as ships landed at, and departed from, the spaceport.

McCoy sat back upon his palms. "It's easy to feel lost, out there."

"Perhaps, but nevertheless, if one uses reason, the path is less difficult to find."

McCoy raised his eyebrow. "You do realize what ship we're on, right? We've been making it up as we've gone for the last two years."

"Incorrect. Our reasoning has been based upon practicality. We merely shift ourselves about in order to integrate to the situation." He broke off when McCoy shivered. "Are you cold, Len?"

"Night air's getting to me," he replied.

Spock rose, and unfolded the blanket they had brought with them to drape over his lover's shoulders. McCoy glanced up at him. "Get under here."

"I am fine," he replied, folding his arms behind his back.

"If I'm cold, you are, too," McCoy argued, holding the blanket open for him. When Spock still didn't budge, he added, "Doctor's orders, I'm warming you up."

Relenting, Spock sat down, and allowed him to draw the blanket over his shoulders. McCoy cuddled up against him, his hand falling beside him. Spock covered it with his own and felt a sense of tentative peace from his lover. It was a more animalistic type of fear, now. Spock's counterpart was long gone but the memory of him still hovered, just out of his periphery. It would take a very long time for it to disappear, if at all. Reality had been altered. But they were still here tonight. He would be willing to protect McCoy from anything.

McCoy, however, stopped him. "Don't think about it, we're on shore leave." Spock glanced over at him. McCoy continued, "If you live your life with regrets, you'll miss what's in front of you."

"You have regrets," Spock commented.

McCoy nodded. "Many, but," he put a hand to his cheek, "you're not one of them."

Spock tugged him closer and kissed him. He could feel McCoy's unhappiness from his lingering memories. He wished to tug his lover free, for a moment, but he forced his human side to submit. McCoy had his own experiences that made up who he was, and he had to find his own personal truth, his human form of c'thia, within himself.

Leonard drew out, rested his head against the side of Spock's shoulder, and closed his eyes. Spock gently tugged him closer inward, the blanket slipping on his shoulders, until he was upon the Vulcan's lap. Grasping it, Spock tugged it back up, slightly mussing McCoy's hair. He was warm, as humans were. He found comfort in the closeness. He liked seeing the doctor like this, relaxed, and at peace. By the time McCoy would wake up again, he would find himself in bed, wrapped in sheets, and his head resting against the pillows.

The lights of the buildings slowly went out, and the stars hung above them in an alien sky.

"Where have you been all my life?" McCoy had joked to him, and Spock, not understanding, had replied Vulcan. He ran a finger through the strands of McCoy's hair. The probability of him being here with this man, as they were, was quite low, and admittedly contrived based upon circumstance. Yet, it was something that transcended reality, for even in that alternate universe, their counterparts were together.

Regardless, this was their time alone together. The night sky was filled with endless possibilities, but he tempered them with concern for his lover. Spock lowered his eyes to look contemplatively at McCoy and realized that he had to let go. It would not be the last time that McCoy would come to harm, given their professions. He had chosen this. He knew the risks.

And yet…He didn't want to. McCoy was his responsibility, anyway, being his subordinate, but he couldn't restrain the doctor from performing his function. He kissed the top of McCoy's head, and the doctor stirred slightly against him in his sleep. It was impossible for him to always be there to protect his lover, but whether he would make every attempt to do so was not even a question. He admired Leonard's bravery, as well as his compassion, however what concerned him was that McCoy's instinct was to care about him, as opposed to himself, in the wake of all of this.

He broke off the kiss. They would still have time on shore leave to enjoy one another's company. He planned to make efficient use of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The planet Ixchel is my creation.

**Author's Note:**

> Personally, I was quite annoyed by Zephram Cochrane's behavior in "Metamorphosis." It might be from the fact that Kira Nerys and Odo from Deep Space Nine are my favorite couple in all of Star Trek, but Cochrane's disgust of the Companion's biology as she is, until she possesses a human, is distasteful. While I can understand, from his point of view, that the Companion wasn't entirely truthful in her intentions, she still protected him out of genuine love. For that, I agree with McCoy calling Cochrane out for saying hurtful things to her.
> 
> Spock needing a respiration mask is from Uhura's Song by Janet Kagan. While on a tropical planet in that story, Spock, due to being from a desert biome, suffers from breathing problems from the heavy humidity in the planet's atmosphere. Yen Tien Phan is my character. The Norsicans were my idea only as there is no canon depiction of the culture on Epsilon Canaris III. So the reason I haven't been around for a while is I've been working on this, and the draft became much longer than I thought. Originally, I had wanted to do something with Spock and McCoy involving rain, and this came out of it.


End file.
